Shannon's Last Legacy
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: An unexpected discovery forces Leslie to face the scariest part of her past. Follows 'Burden of Proof'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _A quick teaser: the rest of this should go up within the next day or two, once I've put the finishing touches on it and polished it up. Thanks once again to PDXWiz, jtbwriter and Harry2!  
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§ § § -- April 14, 2002 – Susanville, California

"I dare you to go in there, scaredy-cat." The four boys looked at the new kid on the block, waiting with smirks on their faces for him to chicken out. The boy who had spoken was their leader, with a swagger that he thought made him look older than his ten years but in fact only painted him as the bully he was.

The new boy stared uncertainly at the vacant lot. They were standing at the very edge of the overgrown grass, sneakers on the pavement but toes just overhanging the edge, as though to go any farther invited ghosts to come flying up out of the huge pile of debris in the middle of the small meadow. There actually were supposed to be ghosts here, the new boy had heard. Since moving here a couple of weeks ago, he'd discovered that this empty lot was a huge attraction. The other kids in the neighborhood were either too frightened to get any closer to it than the other side of the street, or constantly daring one another to venture into the yard. The new boy shoved his hands into his pockets. This group he was with claimed to be the only kids in the neighborhood who'd not only gone into the yard, but actually hunted for treasure in that pile of junk in the middle.

He turned and peered at the leader, feeling a little nervous but trying very hard not to let it show. "You ever find anything in there?" he asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the debris.

The bully shrugged while his cronies snickered. "Found some silverware, but that's all. Look, Colson, you want in the group, you gotta go in. And not just in the yard, but in the ashes." For that's what it was—a giant heap of ashes, packed down by countless snowfalls and rainstorms and the passage of time. The new boy, Ryan Colson by name, turned back to eye it again, wondering what the ashes had once been. Probably a house, he imagined, since it was the only vacant lot on an entirely residential street. It was obvious even to him that those ashes had been there far longer than he'd been alive—heck, his mom and dad were probably little kids when this place burned down. But despite that, it seemed wrong somehow to go in there and poke through whatever was left. Somebody had to have lived here once, and it would feel too much like going through their private stuff.

"If you find anything in there, Colson, it belongs to the whole group, not you," one of the other boys said. "So don't steal anything."

Ryan turned and scowled at him. "If we take anything out of there, it's stealing anyway," he informed him. "You ever think of that?"

"What're you, some dumb old goody-two-shoes?" scoffed the bully. "You're just scared, Colson, and you know it. You'll never be good enough to get in the group. C'mon, guys, let's get outta here and let the scaredy-cat think about it." The group moved off down the street, leaving Ryan standing at the edge of the yard feeling uncertain, yet drawn in spite of himself. Once more Ryan's gaze strayed to the hill of ashes, and curiosity slowly began to supplant his trepidation. What was really in there? Maybe he could find something interesting, some sort of clue that might tell him more about what had happened here way back whenever. Ryan was a big Hardy Boys fan and had often wished for a mystery of his own to solve; now it looked like one had fallen right into his lap. He shot one last glance down the street, after the retreating backs of the gang he'd been thinking about joining, then took a deep breath and stepped into the grass.

He felt a little like a hunter on a safari. The grass was almost as tall as he was and he had to half wade through it, parting the stalks ahead of him as a swimmer cleaves the water, plowing determinedly straight ahead. The lone tree in the front yard cast stark shadows on him and he eyed it sidelong. It must be dead; all the other trees on the street had leafed out, but this one was just a trunk and a spidery mass of branches. Ryan turned his back on it and forged ahead till he very abruptly emerged from the long grass and almost tripped over the edge of the foundation. "Whoa," he blurted and windmilled his arms frantically, finally regaining his balance.

His eyes grew wide with amazement as he took in the scene before him. "Whoa," he said again, this time with awe. The large squarish depression in the ground contained more than just that giant pile of ashes. Now he could see the half-rotted remains of blackened timbers in a few places, weedy-looking plants sticking up out of the mess, even a small tree growing in the far corner. Nearly at his feet he could see a scorched doorknob glinting dully up at him. Excitement overcame him, and he completely forgot to be afraid of anything, even the ghosts they said were here. Ryan jumped eagerly into the foundation and picked up the knob, brushing off dirt and ashes and turning the thing over and over in his hand. There wasn't anything special about it, and after a moment he lost interest in it and dropped it again before moving forward, one giant step at a time, scanning the ground for anything that might look interesting.

An idea occurred to him and he goose-stepped over to one of the timbers, working away a broken sliver long enough to use as a digging stick. That other kid had said they'd found silverware here. Wouldn't it be cool if he found something really important? Something that might be worth reward money or something? Maybe he could get the new GameBoy he hadn't received for his birthday last month. Even if not, he might still solve the mystery surrounding this weird vacant lot with its burned house.

Ryan spent the next half hour digging through the ashes in random spots, without turning up very much. It crossed his mind once that he might even find human bones lying in here somewhere, but after a moment's stark terror he realized that none of the other kids had said anything about anyone ever finding any. If they had, that probably would've been the first thing he'd have heard about when he got the story of this place. He returned to his poking around, turning up some more of the silverware the bully had mentioned but not bothering to pick it up. He did uncover a broken dinner plate, but that held little interest for him either and he moved on.

His sneakers were sinking into the mucky ashes and he made a face. His mom'd give him heck if he didn't clean them off before he went into the house. Trying to back off into a shallower section near the edge of the foundation, away from the main heap, he felt his ankle turn under him. Ryan let out a yelp as he tumbled onto his side, then cried, "Ow!" when he hit something hard. Scrambling to his feet, he tried to see what he'd landed on, but there was nothing immediately visible. Frantically he brushed ashes off his jacket. "Mom's gonna kill me…" he groaned.

A gust of wind sprang up and eddied the ashes he'd knocked loose in his fall—and as they spiraled into the air in a miniature whirlwind, he froze and gaped. There really was something in there. He could see it! Grabbing the stick, he scraped away at the dirt and ash surrounding the object till he finally uncovered it enough to get a good look at it. Ryan's eyes went huge with amazement again. "Awesome," he breathed. "A safe!"

It was, in fact, a small household safe, resembling the ones he sometimes saw in rich people's houses on TV. All sorts of wild ideas danced through Ryan's mind. There could be money in there, or jewelry, or stocks and bonds…stuff that could make the finder rich. He had to get it out of here…but how was he going to get it home?

A car horn honked on the street and a voice called, "Ryan! Ryan, where are you?"

Startled, Ryan straightened up. "In here, Dad!" He jumped as high as he could but still couldn't make himself seen above the grass, especially standing in the foundation as he was. He shouted louder. "In here, Dad! In the vacant lot!"

"Coming," his father's voice yelled, and several minutes later Ryan's dad emerged from the overgrown grass and stared at his son with some exasperation. "Ryan, what're you doing in here anyway? You really shouldn't be messing around in here."

"But Dad, look what I found!" Ryan exclaimed, hyperactive with excitement, pointing at the safe. "It's a real live mystery, just like the Hardy Boys! Can we get it out, Dad?"

His father stared at him, then at the safe, and frowned. "I suppose we could," he said, "but it's not ours to keep, Ryan. It's got to belong to somebody."

"But I found it," Ryan protested. "Finders keepers, right, Dad?"

"Not this time," his father said. "That's too big and too valuable an item to just lay claim on." He looked around the lot and whistled low. "I had no clue any of this was back here. Melinda Sansome said there used to be a house here that burned down, but I didn't realize the ashes were still here. What an unholy mess."

"Da-aaaad," Ryan pleaded impatiently.

His father sighed. "All right, Ryan, all right, but we're taking that thing to the police and you're going to tell them how and where you found it. You understand? That safe, and whatever's in it, belongs to somebody, and if the police know whose it is, they can get hold of that person and let them know you found it for them. Come on, let's see if we can get this thing out of here, and then we're heading to the station with it."

Ryan dug away more ashes with his stick while his father jumped into the foundation and grasped the safe, wiggling it loose and making a stab at lifting it. "This thing's heavy," he muttered, bracing himself and heaving it off the ground. "You know, young man, if I leave you in here trying to solve one of your everlasting mysteries, you might turn up a skull next. Come on."

Ryan and his father made their way back across the overgrown lot to the car, where Mr. Colson wrestled the safe into the back seat and then urged Ryan to get in. Ryan bounced in his seat all the way into downtown Susanville and was the first out of the car at the police station. His father had to restrain him before they went inside.

The receptionist looked up. "Can I help you?"

Ryan's father cleared his throat. "Yes…I hope so. My name is Ken Colson and I live a little ways out of town, on Banner Street. My son Ryan here found something he wants to bring to your attention."

The receptionist smiled at an eager Ryan. "What'd you find?"

"A safe, miss," Ryan blurted. "Just like something out of the Hardy Boys. There's this vacant lot on our street, and some of the guys were daring me to go in there, but I waited till they were gone…thought maybe there was something worth a lot in there and they might try to take it, y'know? Anyway…I was pokin' around in the ashes, and I found a safe, a big one too! My dad could hardly carry it, it was so heavy! He said we hadda come here and show it to the police, 'cause it might belong to somebody. Hey, is something wrong?" The receptionist wore a strange look.

"A vacant lot? On Banner Street…?" she asked, staring up at Ken Colson.

He nodded. "Yeah…uh, is there something we should know about?"

"Wait just a moment." The receptionist stood up and glanced down a hallway at her right, then called, "Sergeant Calabrese? Could you come out here a minute?" She bit her lip and sat down at her desk. "The sergeant will be right with you."

Ryan stared at his father. "Wow, Dad, maybe that safe was stolen!"

"I don't know, son. Let's wait and see," Colson said, now strangely ill at ease. Ryan stood on his tiptoes as if that would allow him to see around the wall that blocked their view of the hallway, fidgeting impatiently.

After another minute or so, a middle-aged woman whose hair was just starting to go gray emerged from the hallway. "What's up, Kate?"

The receptionist gestured at the man and boy. "This is Ken Colson and his son Ryan. They say they found a safe…and get this, Sergeant, it was in that vacant lot on Banner Street—the Hamilton property."

The policewoman stood quite still for just a moment; then she glanced at the receptionist before clearing her throat and shaking Colson's hand. "Hi, Mr. Colson, I'm Sergeant Michele Calabrese. Would you, uh, show me this safe?"

"It's in the back seat of our car, Sergeant," Ryan blurted, still overly excited. "You can come right out and see it there."

"Is there something illegal about all this?" Colson asked nervously.

Calabrese drew herself up short and then laughed a little. "No, it's not illegal…it's just sort of a legend around here, I guess. Never thought something would come out of that place again. I thought it was a closed book."

"The kids say that lot's haunted," Ryan told her solemnly, following her and his father out the door and to the car. "They said there's ghosts there."

Calabrese peered at him. "Can't say I'd be surprised." Colson opened the back door of his car, and she eyed the dusty, dirty little safe sitting in the back seat. "You don't know about that lot, Mr. Colson?"

"We just moved to town," Colson explained. "What's the story?"

Calabrese stared into the middle distance, lost in memory. "You probably figured out there was a house fire there," she said, and Colson nodded while Ryan bounced on his feet nearby, hanging on every word. "Well, there's a really sad story behind it. Happened back in September 1978. The guy who owned the house deliberately set it on fire, evidently trying to kill his family—wife and three daughters. The wife and two of the girls did die, but the guy himself died too—the oldest girl was the only survivor." She shook her head. "I can still see the kid now…blank-eyed and shocked beyond imagining, staring at the place like she was waiting for her mother and sisters to come out. I was here then—handled the whole thing with my partner at the time." She blinked and returned to the present, seeing Ryan's openmouthed fascination.

"Wow," Ryan breathed, drawing out the word. "Awesome."

"Not for the girl," Calabrese said gently. "She didn't have any other family. I can't remember whatever happened to her. She stayed with another family for a few months, then I guess the county dealt with her case and she disappeared. Haven't heard anything about her since then."

"Uh, Sergeant?" They looked around to see Kate the receptionist in the door; she looked to have been there for some time. "I guess you didn't keep up with it. I've been here all my life and I thought that was the saddest case I ever heard of. The girl…she was sent off to Fantasy Island. That safe probably belongs to her."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- April 23, 2002 – Fantasy Island

It was late morning when Leslie returned from a trip to Amberville, carrying a grocery bag and a small stack of mail she'd collected from hers and Christian's post-office box. They were looking forward to a quiet Tuesday together, with no special plans for the day.

Christian, in the living room watching a television game show, looked around when he heard the door close and smiled at her. "Hello, my Rose, what was in the mail?"

"The usual, I imagine," Leslie said, returning his smile before setting about putting the groceries away. "Haven't really looked at it yet." She heard the swell of cheers from the TV audience and stopped again, staring at him. "Christian, what are you watching in there?"

He grinned. "A game show," he said. "Just because I was curious."

Leslie rolled her eyes and laughed. "Maybe I should be glad it's not a soap opera. Did you check e-mail?"

"Yes, and everyone's fine," Christian said, "except perhaps Anna-Kristina. She's making noise about coming back here and visiting us, and complaining because her queenly younger sister has been cracking down on her about all the money she already spends flying back and forth to Arcolos to see Carlono. I don't know what to do about that girl."

"Nothing, my love," Leslie said cheerfully. "Anna-Kristina's life is hers to live…and she isn't our problem. Anyone would think you were her father instead of her uncle."

Christian made a horrified noise. "No, having her as my niece is enough. Don't get me wrong…I love that girl, but she's very hard to figure out sometimes. Do you need some help in there?" He got up, put the remote control on the coffee table and came into the kitchen to watch her stashing away groceries.

"All set, my love," she said. "You could look at the mail if you want."

Christian picked up the envelopes she'd brought home and riffled through them, then stopped and checked them more carefully; he thought he had seen something strange. Sure enough, he uncovered an envelope addressed to "Leslie Hamilton." Interest piqued, he took a closer look at it; the return address was in a town in California. "Hmm," he mumbled thoughtfully. "My Rose…you should look at this."

"At what?" Leslie closed the last cabinet door and turned to look at him.

"Here." Christian handed her the envelope in question and watched her expression change as she stared at her maiden name on the front. "It comes from a place called Susanville, in California."

Her eyes shot to the return address and she went very still, alerting him. "After all these years?" she mumbled uneasily. "Who in Susanville would want to contact me?" She looked up at him and bit her lip. "I don't even know what's in this thing and already I'm nervous. I can't imagine it could be good news."

"Why? What does…" Christian stopped and his eyes widened a bit as memory came back to him. "Ah…I had forgotten, that's where the house fire that killed your family took place. Do you recognize the place that sent that to you?"

Again Leslie caught her lower lip between her teeth and absently gnawed on it as she took in the full address. "It's the local police station. I…I think I'm afraid to open this."

Christian came to her and hugged her gently. "Why, my darling? What frightens you so much about it?"

"Just…I don't know. I honestly can't imagine what sort of good news would come out of there, after what happened there." Leslie looked up at him and once more bit her lip. "Would you open it for me, please, my love?"

"You'd better stop biting that lip, or you'll draw blood," Christian teased, kissing her forehead. "All right, let's see what they have to say." He took the proffered envelope, slid a finger under the flap and ripped it open, withdrawing a letter. "Seems harmless so far."

She groaned. "Christian…"

Chuckling, Christian tilted her head back and kissed her softly. "Calm down, my Rose. I don't think it's the end of the world. Do you want me to read it to you?"

Leslie nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "Please."

Christian cleared his throat. " 'Dear Ms. Hamilton,' " he read. " 'It has recently come to our attention that an item was found on the property of 85 Banner Street, Susanville. A local citizen and his young son brought it to us. After some research'—"

"—'it was ascertained that this item most likely belongs to you'," Roarke read aloud, some thirty minutes later in the main house, while Christian and Leslie stood at the desk and watched. Leslie's face was full of anxiety and Christian, now growing worried about her, stood with a protective arm around her. " 'If you wish to claim this item or its contents, please come in person to Susanville police headquarters…' " He paused and took in their expressions, particularly Leslie's. "So 85 Banner Street was your address in Susanville, child?"

Leslie nodded. "After all this time…it's been over twenty-three years since the fire. I can't even imagine what it must look like now, and if you want the truth, I don't think I want to go back there. I'd rather not revisit that part of my childhood."

"But my Rose," Christian pointed out, "you don't know what they found. Perhaps it's something that has value to you—even if it's only sentimental value. Don't you at least want to know what it is, and maybe claim it?"

She closed her eyes and winced, then dropped her head on his shoulder and groaned, "I don't know. I just don't know. When I left, I didn't even look back. I was scared of where I was going, but I was even more scared of what I was leaving behind."

"Leslie," Roarke said gently, "I know it isn't easy. But if I may be so frank, I don't think you have fully healed from the incident. Oh, I know you don't find it as difficult as you once did to speak of your mother and sisters, but the fact is that you were never required to face the tangible reminders of the events that occurred there. The simple fact that you're so ambivalent about going, and so nervous, speaks volumes to me."

Christian glanced at him, then at Leslie, and said, "My darling, suppose I go with you. I would have anyway, as a matter of fact, but it seems you need moral support as it is, so let's both go and see what they've found." He cradled her face in his hands and smiled at her. "I'll be there for you, you know that, don't you? You've been there for me on several occasions in the recent past, and I think it's time for me to return the favor."

She studied him, searching his face, and he winked at her. Finally she heaved an enormous sigh and nodded reluctantly. "Okay…we'll go. But I'm not very sanguine about it."

"Obviously," Roarke said and smiled. "Something tells me this will be easier for you than you anticipate, Leslie. Sometimes it's necessary to face the past before you can heal from it, and I believe the time has come in your case. You need not stay any longer than you feel comfortable doing, but I do think you should go."

Leslie took a deep breath, gave Christian a long, hard hug which he returned, and then let him loose to pick up the phone to make reservations. "Here goes nothing."

"Correction…here goes something," Roarke said whimsically, and Christian grinned. "For I have no doubt that you'll come away with a great deal to think about."

‡ ‡ ‡

Though Christian and Leslie had left the island on the morning of April 24, they went right back to the previous day's date within minutes of departure; but their extra day would disappear almost entirely in flight, so they decided the best thing they could do with their time was sleep it away. Christian did sleep, but Leslie couldn't. For a while she stared at him as if she would never see him again and wanted to commit his face to memory; in fact, she was just envious. The Polynesian attendant who acted as steward on the charter flight saw her predicament and smiled. "If Prince Christian can sleep, Miss Leslie, why can't you?" he asked.

"Because I'm the one with the problem, and he's just there for moral support," said Leslie glumly. "And he's not a prince anymore."

"Perhaps not in name, Miss Leslie, but we can all see that he is a prince at heart and will be one for all his life," the man said. "Even Mr. Roarke has said that he has given up and stopped asking us not to call him 'prince' any longer. You cannot deny royalty, even if they say they are no longer royalty. They will always be royal in their hearts." He smiled again. "Is it so bad to be married to a prince? We have seen it since he came back to you, Miss Leslie. He loves you so much, he will do anything for you—I can see that he would die for you if he were asked. His people must have truly loved him. He may be a prince at heart, but he is a warm and giving person, and to no one more than you."

"There are some things even princes can't do," Leslie said, her voice distant. "I know Christian would take those memories away if he could, but that's not in his power. Not even Father can do that."

"Do you wish that Mr. Roarke or Prince Christian could take them away?" the steward asked. "Surely not. They are a part of who you are today." He caught her look. "We all know, Miss Leslie. Yours and the prince's names and final destination are on the flight manifest, and we know your history, and we know you are returning to face a part of that history. Those pieces of your early life brought you to your current place, brought you your prince whom you so love, brought you happiness. Do you so wish to deny them?"

Leslie stared at him. "What do you do, take classes from Father or something?"

The steward laughed softly. "Island wisdom runs back for centuries, Miss Leslie, long before Mr. Roarke found us, made it Fantasy Island and took steps to protect us. And even Mr. Roarke knows when to take advantage of island wisdom. Perhaps it's time you found out yourself." He arose. "Shall I get you a blanket or a pillow?"

"Just a blanket," Leslie murmured. The steward nodded and left, and she shifted in her seat so that she faced Christian a little more and gazed at him again. He always looked so peaceful in his sleep, she thought. At these times she could catch glimpses of the little boy he'd been once. Unable to resist, she ever so gently laid her palm over his cheek, touched her lips to his, and murmured in a bare whisper, "Thank you, my love."

Christian stirred, surprising her, and opened his eyes just a little, still mostly asleep. "Put your head here," he murmured drowsily.

She obediently laid her head on his shoulder; his murmured "Good…" made her smile. He rested his head atop hers, and a few seconds later she felt him relax back into sleep. The steward brought her a blanket then, and she mouthed her thanks to him and draped it over herself and Christian before closing her eyes. She didn't feel any more settled about what lay ahead, but simple physical contact with Christian was enough to soothe her into her own slumber.

The landing at Honolulu International roused Christian, who let out a yawn that woke Leslie. "Are we here?" she mumbled.

He looked at her and smiled slyly, teasing her, "We're always 'here', my Rose. Which 'here' do you mean?"

She gave him a gentle poke in the gut and he reacted with an exaggerated flinch. "You know which 'here' I mean," she said, grinning despite herself. "It has to be Honolulu, since we have to change planes to Reno."

"Did you sleep at all?" Christian asked.

"Yeah, I did, finally," Leslie said, a little surprised. "Maybe we shouldn't sleep the next flight away, though, or we'll be up all night."

Christian shrugged and shifted in his seat, yawning again. "We get into Reno late, don't we? Since you haven't been back to Susanville in more than two decades, and I've never been there, we may need to get our sleep now to find our way there in the dark. I have to admit to surprise that you wanted to go straight through without staying over in Reno. After all, you seemed to want to put off getting to Susanville."

Leslie looked at him a little guiltily. "Well, maybe it's better just to get it over with."

Christian laughed softly. "Don't change your mind so much, Leslie, you'll wear it out! I don't mind driving, but I just don't want you too tired to get us there without getting lost. We'd better have something to eat before we leave the airport, and I think you had better call that little inn where you made a reservation for us and make sure they'll hold the room until we get there. I'm afraid I'd find it a very unpleasant surprise to have nowhere to sleep in a strange town." The plane came to a halt at its usual gate, and he arose, stretching at leisure. "How long will the drive take?"

"Maybe two hours or so," Leslie said. "We're going to take 395 north right out of the city. When I was ten, Michael was away for a week on a business trip, and Mom took me and the twins out to Reno just for some sightseeing. It was so nice to be just the four of us without…_him_ along."

Christian smiled at her. "You can tell me more in the car," he said. "It'll help to keep us both awake when we need it. For now, let's find our connecting flight…are you hungry?"

They landed in Reno a bit before eight that evening, had another meal and rented a car, and soon were on their way out of the city. Christian muttered a couple of times about the traffic, but Leslie could see it didn't faze him much, if at all. It thinned out once they were beyond the city and its suburbs, and they drove northwest into California, with Christian easily handling the vagaries of American driving and Leslie hunting for a good radio station to listen to for a while. She eventually gave up and watched him drive for a few minutes; he sat relaxed, occasionally taking in the scenery as it slid by them and glancing at the speedometer once in a while. He noticed after some time. "Wondering if I can handle American roads?" he teased her.

Leslie grinned. "I think you're better at it than I'm probably going to be. I got my license on Fantasy Island and haven't actually driven anywhere else in the world. I just hope I can adjust to the traffic patterns."

Christian patted her thigh and shifted lanes to pass an eighteen-wheeler. "I think you'll be fine. If you get nervous, I'll take over. We have enough ridiculous traffic in Sundborg that this is no problem for me, and for that matter, when I was young and too stupid to know how much of a daredevil I was, I ventured driving in London. Not only was it big-city traffic, but it was also driving on the opposite side of the road. As you can see, I survived that, so I think you have nothing to worry about."

"You'll have to tell me how you got the opportunity to drive in London," Leslie said with a wistful smile.

"Perhaps when we return home," Christian said and flashed her that contagious grin. "Since we're focusing on you, I want to hear about your history. You've owed me that for quite some time now, and I'm calling in the debt. You could start from the beginning…what made Michael and your mother decide to settle in Susanville?"

"It's set well away from big metropolises, but it's not a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere," Leslie mused. "Michael must have been looking for something unusual, and I guess Susanville was it. Mom said at one point that she showed it to him on the map and he thought it might be worth looking into. Later she told me it caught her eye because my middle name is Susan, and to her it seemed like some sort of omen." Leslie thought back over those words and shuddered. "At the time I thought she meant a good omen, but considering how she knew what was ahead, I'm not so sure anymore."

"Ah," murmured Christian and patted her leg again. "I realize I don't have any way of knowing what your mother was thinking, but it seems to me she meant to reassure you, without giving you the sort of foreknowledge that she had."

Leslie looked curiously at him. "You know, you might be right," she mused. "It makes sense to think of it that way."

"Did she ever tell you that she meant to send you to Fantasy Island?" Christian asked.

"No," Leslie said. "I remember sitting in the courthouse downtown, a couple of months after the fire, waiting for the reading of Mom's will. I'd been living with my friend Cindy Lou Brooks and her family since the fire, and Cindy Lou and I were sharing her room. It was a strain on our friendship and Cindy Lou was already growing distant, starting to make other friends, kids I didn't feel comfortable with. Cindy Lou's parents took me out of school for the reading of the will, and I was wearing a dress that used to be her sister Melinda's, scared stupid and wondering what was going to happen to me. We went into the judge's chamber after waiting for something like two or three hours, and there must have been four or five different lawyers in there, including the one who'd helped draw up Mom's will back in Connecticut. They'd had to call him all the way out here to read the will, and he wasn't any too happy about it—he was planning to retire shortly, I think. When he read the will, everybody looked at each other, and then the judge asked me if I knew anything about it. I told her I didn't—it was as big a surprise to me as to them."

Christian thought that over for a bit, checking both mirrors while he was at it, and then absently drummed his fingers on the wheel. "I suspect your mother didn't want to scare you," he said. "As I mentioned before, she had that foreknowledge, and she must have thought it would frighten you if she told you she and your sisters would be dying soon."

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Leslie murmured. "But I've wondered. Sometimes when it's the dead of night and I'm lying awake for no reason, it comes back to me. Maybe she could have told me in the theoretical—you know, pretended that it _might_ happen, rather than telling me it was actually going to. She might have said something like, 'If anything ever happens to the rest of us, you'll be going to Fantasy Island.' " Christian nodded understanding, and she continued, "As it was, when that lawyer read the will, I wasn't even sure I was going after all. He wrote to Father, but the letter apparently got lost in the mail, and it was another three months before I finally got to Fantasy Island."

Christian shot her a startled glance. _"Herregud!_ And what happened to you in the meantime, while you were waiting?"

"I was left in the Brookses' care," Leslie said, staring through the windshield without seeing the passing landscape. "I slept on a cot in Cindy Lou's room and I kept my duffel underneath it. But as I said, the longer I stayed with them, the more Cindy Lou and I grew apart. After Christmas I started having nightmares about the fire, and more than once they woke her up. The first time she was sympathetic; after that, she just complained that I was always waking her up with my stupid dreams." Christian grunted disgustedly and she cast him a faint smile. "By the time the lawyer finally called her parents and told them he'd heard back from Father, the two of us were barely speaking to each other and she was hanging out with kids that even her sister Melinda thought were jerks. And I'd started taking my duffel everywhere with me, even to school, for fear that something might happen to it if I let it out of my sight. It contained everything I owned in the world."

"I can understand that very well," Christian said. "So you felt completely abandoned, and you were going to a place you knew nothing about, to a guardian about whom you knew just as little."

"Exactly," said Leslie. "Mrs. Brooks was so disgusted with her, she told me she hoped I'd make better friends on the island than I'd had in Susanville, and she even apologized for Cindy Lou. She kept me out of school on the Wednesday before I was supposed to fly out, tried to give me a bunch of Melinda's outgrown clothes, but I didn't want them. So in the middle of that night I took them all out of my bag and folded them and stuck them underneath the cot, shoved way out of sight so they wouldn't find them again till I was long gone. The next day she took me to Susanville's local airport and put me on the plane herself, and wished me luck, and that was the last I ever saw of the place…well, till now."

Christian reached over and folded his hand around hers. "Oh, my Rose," he said softly. "Do you remember when you told me about the fire? I wished that somehow I could have been there to help you, to comfort you. It occurs to me now that I was married to Johanna at the time and endlessly babysitting Anna-Kristina, and thinking I had a rather sorry lot in life just then. Had I only known…" He looked at her sheepishly. "But that's a spoiled prince for you, I suppose."

She grinned. "I wasn't even fourteen yet…I think you'd have considered me a very boring little child."

He laughed and said, "Oh, maybe. Hindsight is a funny thing. Did you ever stay in touch with anyone from Susanville after you first left?"

"No," Leslie said, clutching his hand for comfort. "I'd had a hard time making friends when we first moved from Connecticut anyway, and I think that's because Michael had a way of discouraging the twins and me from doing it. Even if we wanted to make friends, his attitude had enough influence on us that we didn't, not much anyway. But Mom said it was unnatural for us not to have friends. She was glad when Cindy Lou and I met. But Cindy Lou was pretty much the only real friend I had there, and of course even that friendship fizzled out after the fire, so there was no reason for me to bother."

"So you really cut all ties," Christian mused. "You were making a completely fresh start on Fantasy Island: new home, new friends, new school, a new guardian, even new belongings. Oh yes, I can imagine you were thoroughly terrified."

"Like I said, scared stupid," said Leslie, making him laugh again. "But probably no more so than I am right now. I don't know what to expect."

"We're going to find out," Christian said, squeezing her hand. "Let me say this now: if you need to cry, I understand. As much as it kills me to see you do it, I know that sometimes you must. And though I couldn't be there for you when you were thirteen, I can be there for you now, and I will. All right?"

"More than all right," Leslie said gratefully. "I know I couldn't have done this alone. If this had come before you and I were married, I don't think I'd have done it at all."

"I wouldn't be quite that sure," said Christian, "but I'm glad it didn't happen till now at any rate. I've heard Mr. Roarke cite that inner strength of yours, and I've seen it myself, but sometimes you just need a little extra help. So here it is." He looked at her long enough to smile and stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then returned his attention to the road before them.

Somewhat more than an hour later, a small green sign with white lettering loomed out of the dark to let them know they'd reached their destination; the lights of Susanville lay ahead. The inn Leslie had found on the internet was on the outskirts of town, right on the road they were taking to get there, and by ten they were checked into a room, wide awake and somewhat at loose ends.

"You were right," Christian said, idly studying the list of cable-TV channels lying atop the television set. "We did sleep too much while we were flying."

Leslie smiled ruefully. "All the more time for me to lie awake letting it sink in that I'm back here after so long. Maybe there's some mindless movie we can watch till we're too bored to stay awake any longer."

"Perhaps," Christian agreed, amused. He turned on the set and made himself comfortable on the one bed. "Come sit with me, my Rose. You look lost."

She tugged off her shoes and willingly cuddled up beside him, relaxing when he lifted one arm and wrapped it around her. For a minute she watched him change channels, then said teasingly, "Typical man—can't resist channel-surfing."

"How else am I going to find that mindless movie you wanted?" Christian countered good-naturedly. "Tell me, is Susanville big enough for its own local station?"

"No," said Leslie, "unless they have one of those cable-access channels. Major news comes out of Reno around here, as I recall. I guess we could get tomorrow morning's paper." She yawned, to her own surprise. "Maybe I'll sleep after all. Driving fatigue."

Christian made an incredulous noise. "You never even took the wheel, and you're tired from it? Is American driving really too much for you after all, even vicariously? I think you need to practice in other places. Whenever we do take a vacation, I'll have to look into some good destinations where we can rent a car and you can do some driving to get in some extra experience. Fantasy Island doesn't prepare you for the highways and such things." He smiled wickedly at her. "Wait till you've traveled the autobahn."

"Listen, Mr. Incorrigible," she shot back, grinning, "you owe me some driving stories, now that you've told me about London and implied you've done the autobahn. Distract me, and tell me about that. There are enormous gaps in your misspent youth, and I want you to start filling them in."

"You're more accurate than you know sometimes, when you call it my misspent youth," Christian remarked, shaking his head at some memory. "All right, then, just for you, so you can get through this first night. Let me see…ah yes, the London story. It must have been late summer of 1983—yes, that's right, I'd just split with Ingela, and…"


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- April 24, 2002

Their room was a little chilly the next morning, and Christian and Leslie donned jeans, sweatshirts and sneakers before poking their heads out the door and noticing that the weather had cooled and the sky was overcast. "Spooky," Leslie mumbled. "Seems all too appropriate to me. Let's see if we can find a good place to have breakfast."

They got the name of a local restaurant from the front-desk clerk, had a delicious breakfast there, and then faced each other in the parking lot. "I think it's time for you to face that past," Christian said gently. "I'll drive if you'll direct me to the police station."

She had to ask directions, and even at that they made a wrong turn before they found their destination. Christian parked, and just at the station entrance he took her hand. "I'll let you do the talking," he told her. "This is yours to handle."

"Just don't let go of my hand," she pleaded, and he smiled and promised not to, before opening the door and ushering her in ahead of him. The receptionist looked up as they entered and smiled questioningly.

"Can I help you?" she inquired.

Leslie drew in a breath. "I'm here about…about something someone found, that apparently belongs to me," she said. "I got a letter. I'm Leslie Enstad…formerly Hamilton."

The receptionist's eyes went very wide and she stared at Leslie in astonishment. "So you're the girl who survived that awful fire," she said. "Oh my God. Wait a second—" She shoved her chair back and shouted down a hallway. "Hey, Sergeant, she's here!"

Leslie stood in an uncertain silence, clutching Christian's hand more and more tightly, while they listened to approaching footsteps from deeper in the building. When the sergeant came into view, she recognized Leslie instantly. "So you're Leslie Hamilton!"

Leslie, too, recognized the woman. "Officer Calabrese?"

Sgt. Calabrese looked astonished. "You remember? Geez, you weren't that old at the time, and you were in shock atop that. Well…welcome back to Susanville. Would you two like to come back to my office? That's where we're keeping the object we wrote you about. By the way…" She stuck out a hand at Christian. "Sgt. Michele Calabrese. My partner and I got the call for that house fire."

"Ah," said Christian, shaking hands. "I'm Christian Enstad, Leslie's husband."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Enstad…" Calabrese paused. "Christian Enstad…? Hold it, didn't you used to be a prince in some little European country?"

Christian laughed and admitted, "I did. Too many people think I still am. But this is Leslie's moment, not mine. I simply came to be of moral support."

Calabrese grinned. "You sound like a good guy. Come on back, both of you. Coffee?" They both declined and followed Calabrese to her office, where she gestured at a lone chair and sat behind her desk. "Sorry there's just the one chair," she said. "I can filch one from another office—"

"Don't go to any trouble," Christian said easily, gesturing Leslie into the chair. "It'll feel good to stand for a while."

Leslie took a breath, breaking the momentary silence. "What's this thing they…well, whoever it was found?" she ventured, grateful for the warmth of Christian's hands on her shoulders. She wondered if the office was cool or if it was just her own shivering…

"Right." Calabrese cleared her throat. "Maybe I should update you a little first, Leslie. The site where your house stood is a vacant lot now—it not only never got rebuilt, it was never even cleaned up. There was some squabble about what should be done with it, seeing the owner was dead but there was a minor survivor. The courts eventually ruled that it'd revert to town ownership, but nobody could be bothered to do anything else about it. Too much other municipal business, you know. So it's sat there ever since the fire, and it's apparently gained something of a reputation with the neighborhood kids."

Leslie sighed. "I'll bet," she mumbled.

"While the town owns the lot itself," Calabrese said, "anything remaining on the site would be yours, if you were interested in it. To be honest, I doubt you'd find too much there, if you were to look. But a ten-year-old named Ryan Colson unearthed this thing we have, and he and his dad brought it in last week." She got up, signaling at Leslie. "Back here by the wall."

Leslie arose and went to take a look, with Christian just behind her. Leslie's eyes went huge. "A safe?" she exclaimed.

Calabrese peered at her in surprise. "You didn't know about it?"

"No," said Leslie, staring at it. "I had no idea…"

"Then that means you wouldn't know the combination," said Calabrese. "That's okay, we can get a safecracker in here to handle it. We won't be able to get anyone till tomorrow at the earliest, though."

Leslie nodded faintly, her mind racing towards an idea she really didn't want to touch, but couldn't seem to stay away from. Before she knew it, she had opened her mouth and spoken. "I…uh, if the town owns that lot…" she began.

Calabrese looked at her, then at Christian, who studied his wife with visible surprise. "Are you saying you want to see it, my Rose?" he asked.

She looked at him with anxiety and not a little fear in her eyes, but nodded with resolution. "Father did say I should face my past…"

Christian nodded. "That's true. Sergeant, do you think it would be permissible for Leslie to go?"

"I won't object," said Calabrese with an odd diffidence, "if you'll do me kind of a personal favor, Leslie. I never found out what happened to you, and I used to get reminded by the oddest things, at the weirdest moments. Maybe if you and your husband would agree to lunch…well, I'd just like to know what happened, if you were okay and someone was there to take care of you. I mean, obviously you got married, but as for the rest…"

Christian and Leslie both laughed quietly. "Of course," said Leslie a little shyly. "I don't mind. I remember you were about the only halfway sympathetic face in those first couple of days after the fire."

Calabrese smiled. "I was just a rookie, seeing her first tragedy on the force," she said. "Okay, well, you two go on and take your time. I don't eat till one, but if you like I'll come out to Banner Street and lead the way back in to my favorite restaurant."

They agreed, and Calabrese called to arrange for a safecracker before escorting the Enstads out to the reception room. "You shouldn't have to deal with the neighborhood kids this time of day, since they're all in school," she said. "I think you have enough ghosts of your own without having a load of excitable minds hanging around you for curiosity's sake."

"Thanks, Sergeant," said Leslie. She drew in a deep breath and took Christian's hand again. "Well, here we go…"

"Do you still remember how to get out there?" Calabrese asked.

Leslie nodded. "I know to go out Richmond Road…it's right off that. I don't think I'll miss it." Her smile was wry, and Calabrese grinned.

"Okay then, well, good luck." Christian and Leslie watched the sergeant retreat for a few steps, then went out to the lot, where Christian handed Leslie the keys.

"I think you should drive," he told her. "It would be good practice for you, even if we aren't going so far. Besides, I want to get a better look at the scenery now that it's daylight. I think I can understand what made Michael decide on this town. It's a very attractive area, set in this valley as it is, with the mountains in the distance and the hills bordering town."

Leslie peered at a peak just visible to the north and nodded faintly. "I liked it because it snows here in winter," she remembered. "We used to get more snow here than we did back in Connecticut." She came back to the moment and gave Christian an apprehensive look. "I don't know why on earth I said that, about going to see the lot. I must have been crazy. Christian, my love, please, talk me out of this."

Christian laughed and hugged her. "I'm sorry, my darling, this time you can't get me to do your bidding. I'll do anything for you and you know it, but even I have to draw a line somewhere. You need to do this, Leslie, and there's simply no denying it. I'm here for you, remember? I told you last night that if you must cry, then do it, by all means. But you can't let the place frighten you for the rest of your life. It's been so long since what turned out to be the watershed event in your life, you've let it get bloated out of its proper perspective and take on a much bigger size than it deserves. Your task here is to shrink it back to its correct proportion, to stop letting it dominate your memories as it does." He saw her look, and his smile grew suddenly wry. "I'd better shut my mouth. You have an expression that tells me that one day you're going to be throwing my own words right back at me."

Leslie grinned. "We all have demons, my love. But that's okay, they're good words, even if you sound like you've been taking lessons from Father." He snorted and they both laughed. "Well, I guess we'd better go if we're going."

She drove along Main Street, turned on Weatherlow and then found Richmond Road, which shortly took them beyond the town limits and into the low hills. For the first couple of miles or so Christian watched the scenery, taking in the vistas that revealed themselves as the road unwound; then he frowned in puzzlement and looked at Leslie, whose eyes were fixed on the road and her hands clenched around the wheel. "Why are you driving so slowly, my Rose?" he asked. "Are you afraid you're going to miss the street?"

"No, just afraid," she muttered. The car slowed still more, and someone behind them hit the horn a couple of times. Christian twisted around to look behind them.

"Come on, Leslie, there are three cars behind us," he said gently. "Either pull over or put on some speed, but don't freeze up."

He watched her catch her lower lip between her teeth, and though she sat in profile to him, he still saw her eyes fill with tears. "Do you want me to drive?" he asked.

"No," she managed and applied the gas a bit. Blinking to clear her vision, she ignored the tear that splashed onto her cheek and concentrated on the road, watching carefully at her left. After another two miles they could see a street branching off the road, and Christian squinted at the little sign. Sure enough, it said Banner Street. Leslie flipped on her turn signal and slowed again, pulling into the street just enough to get the car off the main road and then stopping entirely. Christian studied her for a moment while she struggled to compose herself again, then leaned over and kissed away the tear that had escaped earlier.

"I'm still here," he reminded her, turning her head and settling a soft kiss on her lips. "I'll be here all day." And he grinned.

"Will you be here tonight and tomorrow too?" Leslie asked, the teasing note still audible through her shaky voice. Christian laughed and nodded.

"That I will," he said. "And as long as you want me to be here. Now then, tell me what you want to do from here. Keep driving? Park here and walk? It's up to you."

Leslie took a deep breath and swallowed while Christian watched her, then resettled herself in the driver's seat. "Before I lose what little nerve I've just managed to scrounge up," she said with a rueful look at him, "I'm driving till we get to that damn vacant lot, and then we stop and get out."

"That's the spirit," Christian told her with another grin. "Lead on."

Leslie took her foot off the brake and let the car coast along the street. She was fully aware that Christian was watching her, but she pretended not to be, murmuring house numbers as they rolled slowly past. "Sixteen, twenty-four, thirty…"

"That's not even the proper side of the street," Christian pointed out, amused.

"I know," she said and went on counting. "Thirty-six, forty-two, forty-eight…"

Which was when she heard Christian say, "Thirty-seven, forty-three, forty-nine, fifty-five…" His voice was still teasing, and it made her whack his arm, though she didn't stop her counting. He just laughed and continued: "Sixty-one, sixty-seven, seventy-three, seventy-nine—" And there he stopped.

Immediately Leslie did too—both her counting and the car's momentum—but she simply couldn't bring herself to look. When Christian remained silent, she closed her eyes. "What?" she finally squeaked.

"Eighty-five," Christian said, very gently.

As though of its own volition, her head swiveled around till she was staring at whatever he saw. At first there seemed to be nothing to see: it was just a large squarish patch of badly overgrown grass, bordered at the back by a fairly thick stand of trees and on either side by a weatherbeaten wooden fence. It presented a stark and startling contrast to all the trim houses and tidy lawns surrounding it. She looked at Christian, and he looked back, waiting in silence for her next move.

Finally Leslie said inanely, "We're here."

"So we are," said Christian, still in that gentle voice.

"I…guess maybe we should…get out," Leslie said uncertainly.

Christian nodded, smiling faintly. "All right." They both got out of the car, shut the doors and paused. Leslie sensed Christian moving a few steps ahead, then stopping, and she knew he must have seen her standing there as though stuck to the side of the car, her head down, her eyes scrutinizing a crack in the pavement. He was only following her lead, waiting for her next move before he did anything. _I think we're going to be here a long time,_ she thought, eyes fixed on an ant weaving along the general line of the crack, poking its head in occasionally, changing whatever mind it might have and forging on.

Then she saw Christian's sneakers enter her field of vision, and before she had a chance to react, he slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her head until she had to meet his gaze despite herself. "It's no easier for the procrastinating," he said softly.

Leslie stared up at him; at this angle he was conveniently blocking her view of what had once been 85 Banner Street. "It's not going to be easy at all, is it?" she asked sadly.

"No, my darling, it's not," he said, "but it doesn't have to be this difficult, either. Will it help at all if I hold your hand and we look together?"

Again she took a deep breath and gathered herself while Christian watched her; then she nodded, quickly, and suddenly hugged him. She felt more than heard his quiet chuckle as he returned the embrace; she was relieved when he didn't set her back from him but just let her cling to him with her head on his shoulder, facing the even-numbered side of the street. The house at 84 Banner Street looked almost exactly as she remembered seeing it from her bedroom window every day. It had clearly been painted recently, and of course there was a much newer car sitting in the driveway. And the hedge was taller…

"The bushes," Leslie said distantly, staring at them.

She felt Christian's body shift as he turned his head toward her. "Which bushes?"

"The ones across the street," she told him. "I hid in them that night." She never lifted her head from his shoulder; his warmth was comforting, giving her enough strength to dip her toes in the icy pond of memory.

Christian's hold on her shifted too; his hand settled onto her hair. "When you saw Michael's car come down the street," he prompted.

"Yeah," she said through an exhalation. "I saw the headlights and I didn't want him to see me there, so I hid."

Again she felt Christian shifting beneath her, looking around. "And he pulled into the driveway…" he said.

"Yeah." Leslie closed her eyes, but it only made the memory more vivid. When she let the silence stretch, he turned back once more.

"Leslie, my darling, you're letting the memory have control again," he murmured, without reproach. "Show me where the driveway is."

She stilled completely against him. "I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Christian contradicted, quietly, encouragingly.

Leslie lifted her head and stared pleadingly at him, on the edge of falling apart; he simply smiled at her, just a little. "You can," he said, nodding. "Turn your head to the right, and look over the top of the car, and point out where the driveway is."

She hadn't thought she could do it, but somehow her eyes drifted to the spot as if magnetically attracted. The grass waved in the spring breeze. "I can't see it," she said.

"Then we'll go and look," Christian suggested. Again she stiffened, but he cradled her face in his hands and looked right into her eyes. "Together."

Leslie knew she was about to balk, and violently at that. Christian must have seen it in her eyes, for he gathered her in close again and hugged her hard, rocking her. "Don't let it do this to you," he said. "That memory, this place, has only whatever power you give it, and you're giving it far too much. I can slay only so many dragons for you, my darling. I'd give anything to vanquish this one too, but all I can do is lead the way in."

She clutched him with everything in her, drawing hard on his strength, trying to shore up her fragile emotional defenses. Her throat kept stubbornly closing, and her eyes and nose stung enough to hurt; her body trembled just enough that he noticed. When he spoke again, for some reason it was in _jordiska_, something quiet and soothing that she didn't understand. Yet it worked an astounding miracle on her; her trembling ceased, and an unexpected calm stole over her. Then he drew back a little, smiled slightly and kissed her, fitting his lips over hers just enough to let his tongue slip in and touch the tip of hers before retreating. He broke and smiled fully then. "I love you," he said simply.

She stared up at him in wonder. "I don't know what you did, but thank you," she said, just above a whisper. "What did you say?"

"I'll tell you later," Christian promised. "At the moment you have a dragon to slay."

"This particular dragon seems to have about half a dozen heads," Leslie remarked, and he laughed aloud. "So I guess I better start cutting them off."

"Exactly so. Now, let's see…oh yes, the driveway. Michael pulled into the driveway, which was—where?"

"On this side," Leslie said, once more pulling in a deep fortifying breath before releasing him and leading him to the edge of the lot. There she stopped and stared, trying to breathe normally. There were still chunks of pavement there; nature hadn't quite finished hiding the evidence that people had lived here once. "I still see it."

"Yes," Christian said, eyeing the stubborn pavement. "And then what happened?"

"Michael got out of the car," Leslie said, her gaze drifting up a little and then out of focus entirely as she watched the scene in her mind. "He had something in his hand…it was dark and I couldn't see it. But he was acting so weird, I thought I'd better say something to Mom…only I didn't want him seeing me do it. I was trying to sneak…not to make any noise, and I had to take it slow…" Christian watched, holding himself still, letting her go as far as she would. "…and then he came around the other side of the house just as I got to the—" That was where she stopped again, went deadly still for a second, then blinked and looked to their left, at the forlorn tree that stood leafless in the midst of the sea of grass. Leslie stood immobile, staring at it, for so long that Christian took her hand and started to plow through the grass. But she resisted.

"No," she said, eyes wide and blank. "Not that way…"

He seemed to understand and stepped back, onto the street, leading her along the edge of the lot. She followed docilely until they stood directly across from the tree. "You hid in the tree then," Christian said quietly.

"It had leaves," Leslie said, bewildered. "It had leaves then. Where are they now?"

"I think it's dead, my darling," Christian said, surveying the trunk. He turned then to look at her, and she looked back, seeing an inexplicable alarm in his eyes and wondering what he was suddenly afraid of.

"The heat of the fire must have killed it," Leslie said, a strange calm settling over her. She felt peculiarly distant, as if it had all happened to someone else. "Well, when I climbed it, it was alive…had a lot of leaves still. They hadn't even started changing color yet. And he was over there throwing gas on the house, but I didn't know that's what it was…I couldn't even smell it. I don't know why." She looked over at where the house had been, seeing it in her mind's eye as it had stood there. The image was so strong that she thought for a second it was real, and blinked. Reality seeped in and she found herself staring at…

"Ashes," Leslie whispered, and an absurd association crept into her head. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down…"

"Leslie, don't," Christian said urgently, and she looked at him in surprise.

"Don't what?" she asked blankly.

He shook his head. "We shouldn't have come," he muttered uneasily. "I think we had better go back."

"But the ashes," Leslie protested, bewildered, this time by his actions. "No, no, I have to see it…you said I have to slay this dragon…Christian, my love, please!"

He stopped and stared at her, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You're very sure about this? Because I'm not, not any longer."

"Why?" she wanted to know.

Christian regarded her warily. "You seem to…I don't know how I should say it. You look…detached from reality, I think."

Leslie studied him and said, "I'm not finished cutting off that dragon's heads, you know." She was as surprised as he was when she felt her smile break out. "It's been twenty-three years, there can't be anything left to see in there."

Christian sighed and drew her into his arms again. "I just don't want this leaving new scars atop the old ones. You were frightened before, and now I can see the memory taking over as you describe it to me. There was a blank look in your eyes, as if you were beginning to go mad in front of me." He searched her face for a moment, then asked gently, "Can't you cut off the dragon's head without letting it carry you away with it?"

He had such a worried look that she felt a sudden surge of love for him and kissed him, letting it linger for a moment or two before she pulled back. "As long as you're here, keeping me tethered to the ground, it won't get away with me."

He hugged her close, sighed deeply and nodded, still looking doubtful. "All right, we'll try again…but stay with me, my Rose. You simply have to fight this thing for your own sake—and for mine too. If I don't bring you back to Fantasy Island in one piece, both physically and mentally, I suspect your father's rage will far surpass any my own father ever threw at me." He grinned a little. "Stay with me."

"Can't imagine why I'd want to be anywhere but with you," Leslie said softly. "If I look blank, it's only because the memory's so vivid. It's as clear as any photograph." She hugged him again, then stepped back and took his hand, twining her fingers with his. "Let's go see what's left in there."

"You're very sure?" Christian persisted.

"Not very, but sure enough," Leslie replied with a slightly nervous smile. "I think it's better we do it now while I still have anything like courage left."

He had to grin at that. "All right, then. Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- April 24, 2002

They plowed through the waist-high grass together and shortly came upon the edge of the foundation, a large square hole in the ground into which the sorry remains of the house had collapsed. Several black, sodden timbers lay in rotten chunks along one of the perimeters; another broken timber was half buried in the ashes. Leslie looked down and caught her breath; Christian saw it a moment later. "The front doorknob," she said.

He murmured something in _jordiska_ and let his gaze stray warily along the right-hand edge. "I think there's a plate over there, or part of one," he ventured. "I suppose the kitchen must have been on that side of the house?"

Leslie nodded. "The front door was here…just about where that knob's lying. The steps were wooden too, that's why there's nothing here. We had a big living room on this side, and the stairs about midway back, and the twins had their room over this side and my room was over the kitchen." She tipped back and looked up as though she could see the interior of the structure; her memory filled in where only thin air presided now. "The last thing I remember was seeing the twins' light go on, and then the air conditioner started up, and—that was it." She turned to him and said softly, "The house just blew."

Christian whispered a curse. "And your whole world ended, just like that."

Leslie nodded and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "The rest of that night is a blur. I can only remember watching the fire—I was standing there willing Mom and Kristy and Kelly to come out. I think I…I think I remember voices, maybe, voices calling my name, asking questions I couldn't hear. They must have finally stopped…I don't really know, I must have been at the Brookses' that night and slept, maybe." She lifted her head and shook it, as though it would dislodge the pieces of memory that were stuck out of her reach. "My next clear memory is the next day. Sgt. Calabrese and her partner were at the Brookses' asking me questions. I had to picture everything as I was explaining it, so that I could tell them everything I possibly could. And Sgt. Calabrese…she was just Officer Calabrese then, her partner was a guy named MacGonagle—and what a jerk he was. I heard her say something about my needing therapy, and plain as day he told her I'd just have to learn to live with it. He made me so mad."

Christian released a huff, perhaps of amusement, perhaps not. "What then?"

"After they left, the Brookses thought I should go outside for some fresh air or something. I still felt like things weren't quite real, and I drifted down the street and came over here. Seeing the remains was what drove it home for me…made it final. That's when I knew Mom and Kristy and Kelly were never coming out. Those timbers you see lying on the ground…they were still standing, and that was all that was left. It made me think of skeletons, and I couldn't take it. I ran back, ran away, and since that day this is the first time I've ever set foot on this property."

Christian huddled Leslie close, kissed the top of her head and buried his face in her hair. "I can't even take it myself, and I wasn't here, for God's sake. Oh, Leslie, I can't even begin to imagine what you were feeling. I wish I could have been here."

"You're here now," Leslie said, holding him tightly. "That's all I need."

They stood in silence for a long time after that, stubbornly holding onto each other, each one reflecting on Leslie's words. Finally he murmured, "I've been trying to picture the events as you described them, and it's too much for me. You were stronger than I would have been."

"I doubt that," Leslie said, unable to fathom it. "You'd have been stronger—you were older, for one thing. You were what, twenty back then? If we'd known each other, you'd have been there trying to keep my spirits up."

"When I was twenty," Christian said almost savagely, "I was married to an ice queen and lost in my own perceived misery. Even stuck with Johanna, I didn't know how good I had it. Damn it, I was a prince. I had everything and I still had the nerve to feel sorry for myself…and in the meantime here you were and you'd _lost_ everything. What good would I have been to you then? Don't credit me with anything, my darling. You survived very much on your own, and don't ever tell me you didn't, no matter how frightened and alone you were. You had a strong survival instinct, Leslie, never doubt it. You at thirteen had a better sense of what was important than I had that same year at age twenty."

Leslie drew back and watched him, saw traces of self-disgust in his eyes, and kissed him to quiet him. When she let go, she said, "Don't do that to yourself. They wouldn't even let you control your own life, and it made you mad enough that when fate jumped in and turned you into a widower, you grabbed whatever control you could and took off running with it. Maybe you were spoiled when you were twenty, but you lost that somewhere down the line. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here with me now."

Christian made some inarticulate noise, shook his head as if he couldn't find any appropriate words, and kissed her, with no regard as to where they were. She sank gratefully under his spell, happy to let him fill her senses and make her forget what they'd just gone through and what yet lay ahead.

After quite some time an amused voice remarked, "Sure is a strange place for a makeout spot." Startled, Christian and Leslie came apart and turned to stare at a woman with hair of an ashy-blonde color, some thirty pounds overweight, wearing a sweatshirt covered with intricate embroidery and jeans so old there were holes in the knees. She was grinning, but the smile faded when she got a good look at Leslie, and after a moment she drew in a long, shocked breath. "Oh my God…after all these years…Leslie Hamilton!"

Wryly Leslie remarked to Christian, "I guess I haven't changed very much since I was thirteen." He chuckled, and she looked back. "How do you know me?"

"Sorry," the woman said and looked down at herself. "I've definitely changed…no wonder you don't recognize me. I'm Melinda."

"Melinda Brooks?" Leslie exclaimed.

"Yup—Melinda Sansome now," the woman said. "I still live up at number 48—Mom and Dad retired to San Diego almost ten years ago, and my husband and I bought the house from them. Mark and I have two kids." She studied them. "What're you doing back here?"

"We heard about how some kid around here found something on the property," Leslie told her, "something big enough that they thought they should contact me to come and claim whatever it was."

"I see," said Melinda. "I still can't get over it. Leslie Hamilton."

"Leslie Enstad now," she said. "This is my husband Christian."

Melinda's gaze shifted to him and she blinked. "Not the prince…or the used-to-be prince anyway…holy crud, Leslie, if Cindy Lou could see you now."

"Where _is_ Cindy Lou?" Leslie wondered.

"Lives out in Michigan now," said Melinda. "She's…well, I guess you remember how she fell in with a lot of jerks just after you had to move in with us for a while. Couple of years after you left, one of them got her pregnant, and she married him, had the baby, got a divorce and moved back in with us, then took off running around the country. She's always stayed in touch, but usually only to tell us what state she's living in at the moment. Wait till I tell her you married a prince. She'll go ballistic."

Leslie made a sheepish face, glanced up at a wry-looking Christian, and then looked at Melinda. "Yeah, well…" she mumbled.

Melinda blinked and groaned. "Man, what a crummy host I am. You want to come on over for a while? I can get you some coffee or something…"

"We could visit," Leslie said. "We're waiting for escort back into town, but there's still time. Did Cindy Lou have a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," said Melinda, waiting for Christian and Leslie to wade back through the grass and join her on the street. "He had a lot more sense than his mother—he lives out here, and he's going to Lassen College north of town. It was really weird, Leslie. Cindy Lou was a good kid, right up till…" She clamped her mouth shut.

But Leslie filled in, gently. "Until after the fire and she and I had to share her room. It's okay, Melinda. Cindy Lou and I were never exactly best friends to begin with, and then next thing you know she had to give up part of her bedroom to me for a few months. It just wrecked our friendship."

Melinda nodded heavily. "You must've been glad to leave by the time we finally got word from that lawyer. I remember wishing I could go with you. Fantasy Island…do you realize how lucky you were? If you had to lose everything, there couldn't've been any better place for you to wind up. And it was obviously good for you, since you married a prince…"

"Former prince," Christian seemed compelled to add. "Although I suppose it doesn't matter much whether I make the distinction. I'm too famous now, I guess."

"How come you didn't come here with bodyguards or something?" Melinda asked, looking completely serious. Christian laughed ruefully.

"_Herregud,_ I have enough trouble living a normal life. Let's not make it all the harder." He ambled alongside Leslie, one arm securely around her. "I'm sure there are those who recognized us on our way here, but mostly we were left to ourselves. We don't plan to be here long. Tomorrow we're to collect whatever's in the safe that boy found, and then I think we're going home."

"You still live on Fantasy Island?" Melinda asked.

"Yup, I'm Father's assistant…" Leslie began.

"Huh?" Melinda broke in.

Christian grinned. "She's so used to it she never thinks about it. You see, Leslie went to live with Mr. Roarke. She was his ward till she completed her schooling, and then he formally adopted her. So they are now father and daughter, and she refers to him as such."

Melinda goggled. "Wow! That's absolutely amazing!" She stopped in front of 48 Banner Street and gestured at it. "Well, here we are…"

"Still looks about the same," said Leslie. "Different color though."

"Yeah, Mark paints every year, and about every five, he decides we need to change colors. I think he just likes experimenting with paint. So…you said a boy found a safe in that load of ashes over there? What was in it?"

"We don't know yet," Leslie said. "I never knew my parents had a safe, so of course I don't have the combination, and the police have to bring in a safecracker."

Melinda nodded and preceded Christian and Leslie inside the house, leading them on toward the kitchen. Leslie felt a strange rush of déjà vu that seemed quite misplaced: the interior was familiar, but the furniture was different. It gave her a queasy enough feeling that she immediately declined the refreshments Melinda offered. Christian glanced at her but did the same; Leslie felt him watching her as she sat down.

Melinda also took a seat. "Go ahead and sit if you want," she said to Christian, a little uncertainly. "I…I don't want to sound abrupt, but I'm not sure how to address you."

"Just call me Christian," he said, taking the chair nearest Leslie.

"Okay…thanks, Christian," Melinda said, a little self-consciously, before her mind wandered again. "A safe. Blows my mind any kid got that far in there."

"Why?" Christian asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

Melinda blinked, then turned red. "This is gonna be the most morbid-sounding thing you ever heard, either one of you. But that lot…well, it's turned into a local mystery. All the neighborhood kids use it to scare each other with. It's been so long since the fire, there's a whole new generation on the street. I'm the only one left who was around at the time of the fire. Almost every house on this street has been bought and sold at least once since that night, and kids come and go around here. Seems like half the time we've just met new neighbors, and they up and move again. So it's been years since Mark and I really knew anybody who lives on this street. Anyway…it didn't take long for there to be enough turnover here that stories started popping up, especially when the town didn't bother doing anything about all the debris sitting in there. It got bigger and bigger over the years, I guess. I was never aware of anything till my own kids got old enough to make friends around here, and then they started bringing home stories. Some of them turned my stomach."

Leslie was well aware of Christian's assessing look, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. After a moment Christian did it for her. "Ghost stories, I assume?"

"Those were the least of it," Melinda said. "One of them was even based on the truth. It had something to do with the ghost of a man throwing firebombs at the foundation, and screams of people inside—" Leslie blanched, and Christian lurched for her; Melinda gasped at the same moment. "Leslie, you really don't want to hear this stuff," she protested.

"My Rose, are you all right?" Christian demanded anxiously.

She gave him a dazed look. "That was too close…" she murmured. It was surreal, how people who knew nothing sometimes hit the truth without recognizing it.

"Mostly kids just dare each other to go in there," Melinda said, a pleading look on her face. "I'm sorry, Leslie, really…" She bit her lip. "There's a group of boys calling themselves a gang, a bunch of nine- or ten-year-olds, always intimidating the other kids in the neighborhood and telling them they're too chicken to go in. I've seen them digging around in there when they think nobody's looking. It's the 'spooky spot' for the kids around here, and they talk about ghosts, and buried treasure, and things like that." She glanced worriedly back and forth between Christian and Leslie. "The first time my own kids came home with those stories, I told them they were never to set foot on that lot for any reason, on pain of death. I've never let on to them that I know what really happened. You were somewhere else and had gone on with your life, and everyone else was…gone, and, well…" She trailed off and gave a helpless shrug. "God, the truth is almost worse than the stories."

"I think," Christian said a little tautly, "that they'd have a wonderful time with the truth if they knew it. Perhaps it's best that you kept the secret, Mrs. Sansome."

"Melinda, please," she said. "Honestly, I wish the town would do something. It isn't right to just leave everything sitting out there exposed like that."

Leslie had that detached feeling about her again; she felt Christian slip his arm around her shoulders and let his warmth seep into her. "I think you're right, Melinda," he said, "but I don't think even Leslie would have enough clout to do anything about it. We weren't really here to look at the lot anyhow…it's only that Mr. Roarke thought she should try to exorcise the demons that have made her memories so painful for her. It was difficult enough for her to come here at all." He glanced at a clock on the wall and cleared his throat. "I don't mean for us to run, or to be abrupt, but we're meeting someone for lunch and it's nearly time for her to come for us. And I think it's time Leslie put some distance between herself and the site of that fire."

Leslie finally looked directly at him and was startled by the intensity on his face. "Are you afraid of something, Christian?" she asked softly.

"Not so much _of_, as _for_," Christian said, "namely you. The last thing you need is to be here when the children who live around here start getting home from school and taking up their refrain. I don't like what this is doing to you. I think Mr. Roarke asked a little too much of you this time, my darling, and I want you away from here."

"I'm sorry," Melinda said in a small voice.

Christian looked sharply at her, then softened. "Don't apologize, Melinda. None of this is your fault. You did what little you could—respected the memory of Leslie's mother and sisters, forbade your own children to disturb that lot. I thank you for that, and I know Leslie appreciates it as well. Thank you for your hospitality." He arose, lifting his arm from Leslie's shoulders as he did; she instantly felt cold again.

"I didn't really do much," Melinda said, still sounding intimidated. Leslie suddenly understood why: Christian had been using his "royal" voice again, without realizing it. "I just wish this could've been a happier occasion."

Christian smiled a little. "Don't blame yourself," he said. "I'm just very worried about Leslie. I thought she could handle it, but I'm not sure anymore. Please excuse us, Melinda, and thank you again." Melinda could only let them out after that, and Christian caught Leslie by the waist, crossed the Sansome property and strode down the street with her, barely allowing for her shorter strides.

Not till they reached the car did he stop and hug her. "You asked me at the police station to talk you out of this," he said into her hair. "Now I wish I had."

"No," Leslie mumbled, faintly surprised at the conclusion she'd been approaching for some few minutes now. "You were right the first time, and so was Father."

"No," Christian said firmly. "No, there's no need for this. It's too much for you, that's all. Some things are simply better left alone." He kissed the top of her head and looked up the street. "Thank fate, here comes your friend the sergeant."

Leslie looked up at him till he met her gaze, then said with a small, impish smile, "Put away the prince, my love, so you don't scare heck out of her."

"What?" Christian said blankly.

"You did it to poor Melinda back there, from the moment you decided it was time for us to leave. You don't realize it, my darling, but sometimes His Royal Highness takes over, and people hear it in your voice. Father says he hears it from you when you're being protective of me and when you're really upset with someone—there's a regal tone to your voice then that just intimidates everybody." She took in his stunned expression and grinned as Sgt. Calabrese pulled her car up beside their rental. "I know you'd prefer otherwise, but you'll never be able to completely stop being a prince. And don't try too hard. I love you whether you're a prince or not, but it's such a part of your personality that you wouldn't be the same Christian Enstad I know and love."

"I spent too much time in that damned castle," grumbled Christian, and she laughed, eliciting a relieved grin from him. "That's my Leslie Rose…I feel better now."

They heard a car window lower itself and both turned to lean into the front passenger side of the patrol car. "You two ready?" Calabrese asked.

"Just lead the way, Sergeant," Leslie said with a smile. "We're both famished."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- April 25, 2002

It was raining on Thursday morning, which got Christian's interest. "Wonder if there's supposed to be a storm?" he mused over breakfast.

"You and your storms," Leslie said with tolerant amusement. "I'd just as soon skip it, thanks, especially if we're going to the cemetery."

Christian's expression changed. "Are you really sure you want to do that?" he asked, concerned again. "You went through enough yesterday—it was nearly more than I could endure, never mind you." He grasped her hands across the table and studied her earnestly. "To see you in that much pain and anguish…it stabs me, Leslie, just as much as if someone ran me through with a sword. Mr. Roarke might have thought it a good idea for you to face the actual scene, but I don't agree anymore. I think this is too much for you. You can push a person only so far before the mind snaps…"

"Christian, my love, I'm not insane," Leslie said gently, stroking her thumbs over the backs of his fingers. "I don't think it's too likely I'm going to wind up that way either. I've been thinking about it. I know you're afraid for me, but I'm starting to think Father was right, and you were too, when you said yesterday that I've let it get all blown out of proportion. I have to reassure myself that standing on the actual site of the fire isn't going to give me a terminal case of hives."

Her humorous delivery was lost on him. "I don't like it," Christian said stubbornly. "I think it's completely ill-advised."

"It's still my dragon," Leslie reminded him with a patient smile. "Put away that sword, Your Highness, and let me decapitate him myself."

Christian rolled his eyes sheepishly. "Am I turning imperial again? All right, I give up, my Rose. But we're not going there right now. If you seem all right at the cemetery, we might talk about it again later—"

"From Your Highness to Your Majesty," Leslie teased him. "Did you have secret aspirations to be King Christian, after all?"

Christian stared at her, then started to look around the table. "What're you looking for?" she asked, half laughing.

"A gag," he said, "or a roll of tape, so you can shut me up."

She burst out laughing, catching the amused attention of nearby diners. "Tell you what, we'll stop at a drugstore and I'll pick up a roll of duct tape." At his look, she chortled, "I'm kidding, silly! Come on, let's get going. I hope you remembered the umbrella."

In about twenty minutes they had arrived at a cemetery just north of town limits and were slowly wandering along the grounds, reading names on headstones. It took them some fifteen minutes to come across the granite slabs set directly into the grass; in fact Christian almost stepped on one of them before gasping sharply, yanking his foot away and hopping back. _"Herregud,_ that startled me! Leslie, my Rose…I think we've found them."

She stopped beside him and knelt in the light rain; Christian squatted beside her and they both read the stone: _Kristin Jane Hamilton – June 10, 1967—September 9, 1978._ Leslie reached out with a tentative index finger and traced the letters of Kristy's name, slowly and a little tremulously. "Only eleven years old," Christian murmured sadly.

Leslie nodded silently, shifting her attention to the slab just beside it, which bore the same dates and the name _Kelly Janet Hamilton_. She felt Christian watch her while she reached over to trace the letters in that name as well, marveling at how still the air seemed to be; all she could hear was the rain tapping gently on the umbrella over their heads. Then he requested gently, "Tell me about them, my darling."

Leslie's hand stopped moving and she went still; then she braced herself on a nearby headstone to maintain her balance and turned to look at him. "Like what?"

"Anything," he said. "What were they like?"

"They were identical," Leslie said softly. "But they were almost completely opposite of each other, in a lot of ways." She smiled. "You and Kelly would've got along great. She was a rebel too. She was the one in our family who was always asking why she had to do this or that. And she was the only one of the three of us who had enough sheer gall to backtalk Michael. It used to tick him off to the point that I thought his head would explode, his face would get so red. He walloped her a few times, but then she started catching on and she'd take off someplace, usually outside…and he'd lean out the door and scream her name so the whole street could hear him. And I'd be standing off in the background, laughing to myself—always taking care that he didn't see me doing it."

"Good grief," muttered Christian, highly amused. "I never pushed my father that far. Well, at least not before I reached adolescence and was close to his height."

Leslie snickered softly and let her attention wander to the grave markers. "Kristy was the timid one. She was terrified of Michael, and every time he had at us—which was a lot—she'd wind up in tears. But when he wasn't around…that kid had the most amazing imagination. If she'd survived the fire and come to Fantasy Island, nothing there would've fazed her. She'd never have batted an eyelash…she would've just taken everything in stride, accepted it as perfectly natural. Kelly made fun of her for drawing pictures of unicorns all the time—her side of their room was plastered with them. I used to think that if they'd lived, Kristy would've grown up to be a writer, maybe, or even an animator…and Kelly probably would've become a cop or a social worker. Kristy was a dreamer and Kelly was the fearless one…and it was funny because Kristy was the older of them. She was born eight minutes before Kelly. Most of the time Kristy was really easygoing, just took whatever anybody dealt her, but if Kelly pushed her too far, well, look out. She'd pull rank on Kelly and pretend those eight minutes were eight years."

Christian was laughing softly. "Seems to me Kristy had a bit of royal temper!"

"Just a little," Leslie agreed, grinning. "I was two years older, but if Kelly had already hit Kristy's limit and I didn't realize it, I got the same treatment. Once she'd had a really horrible day at school, I guess. She was in an unbelievably foul mood and was sitting at the kitchen table drawing more unicorns, and Kelly started making fun of her again. She was at it when I got home from school, and it was right about when I walked in the door that Kristy whacked Kelly upside the head. I heard the sound of the smack, but I had no clue what had happened…and I'd had kind of a crummy day too and had a lot of homework I had to do. So when I saw the table covered with unicorn drawings, I started scolding her."

"Uh-oh," said Christian, grinning in anticipation. "What happened?"

"She pushed me," Leslie said and started to laugh. "She just leaped out of her chair and flew at me, and I didn't even have time to realize what hit me. Next thing I knew I was on the floor and all my books were scattered all over the place. The thing was, the whole time, she never said a single word. She just smacked Kelly and shoved me down, and then she stood up straight, stuck her nose in the air and walked out of the room, like this little princess. Mom came in from the back yard and saw me on the floor and Kelly still rubbing the side of her head, and asked what was going on. And Kelly said something about aliens taking over Kristy's body, and we'd better find the real Kristy before the UFO took off."

Christian's laughter carried halfway across the cemetery. "She sounds exactly like Anna-Kristina used to be as a child. Not quite as physical, but with every bit as much the imperial temper!" He let his mirth spend itself and regarded a giggling Leslie with interest. "And where did you fall, in all this?"

"Somewhere in between, I guess," Leslie mused. "I wasn't as timid as Kristy, but I didn't have the same guts Kelly did. Mom had her hands full with the three of us. We might have showed it differently, but we all definitely had minds of our own." She fell silent and let her gaze drift past her sisters' grave markers to another of the same size. Christian, watching, followed her line of sight, then arose and rested his hand lightly on her back as she moved ahead and knelt beside this third marker. It read: _Shannon C. Reed Hamilton – March 22, 1932—September 9, 1978._ Just beyond it was the last stone, bearing the words _Michael Roscoe Hamilton. _ Leslie regarded it long enough to notice, out of the corner of her eye, Christian squinting at the marker.

"When was he born?…looks like December 3, 1930," Christian mumbled.

"A black day for all mankind," Leslie muttered, only half jokingly. She returned her attention to her mother's grave marker, staring at it till the letters seemed to dance before her eyes. "I miss her, Christian," she breathed, so that he had to lean in closer to hear her. "I know she'd have been crazy about you."

"I'm sure the feeling would have been mutual," Christian said. "And I think your mother and mine would have been great friends, even though Mother was much older."

They lingered in silence for some time; then Leslie stood up again, wincing and stretching her legs. Christian groaned softly as he followed suit, and she looked around at him in surprise. Catching her expression, he smiled ruefully. "I'm too old to kneel like that for so long," he said.

"Me too," she said absently, staring at the stone slabs. "But…I feel better, like I finally came back and paid Mom and the twins a long-overdue visit."

"So you're all right, then?" Christian asked.

Leslie nodded. "I'm fine," she said softly, eyes widening with the realization. "I really am." She looked up at him with wonder, and his smile got a little bigger; then he wrapped his arms around her and stood there holding her, while rain dripped off their umbrella and the swishes of passing cars on the nearby street invaded the quiet.

Then she remembered something and said slowly, "Christian…do you remember last summer, the last time we saw Arnulf, and you were having such a hard time forgiving him for all the things he'd done?"

"Mmmm?" murmured Christian questioningly.

"You asked me if I hadn't forgiven Michael once, and I said yes…once. But I just realized I never told you how that happened." She hesitated; he had had enough experiences on the island now that it might seem less unbelievable. "You see…I saw their spirits, about ten years ago…Mom's and Michael's."

"Tell me about it," Christian said, sounding curious.

Leslie smiled. _He's going to be fine,_ she thought, and took a breath. "I'd started having my old nightmare, every night, for no reason…" And over the course of the next half hour, she told him about Michael's ghost, her struggle to forgive him, and how Roarke had called for Shannon's help, while she and Christian stood in each other's arms between the graves of Michael and Shannon Hamilton in the rain.

When she finished, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, while he slowly ran his hand up and down her back and absorbed the story. After some time Christian remarked, "That sounds very much like Mephistopheles, forcing him to carry that gas container around with him for almost fourteen years."

"I remember thinking it was straight out of Charles Dickens," Leslie said and giggled faintly. "But in any case, I knew how hard it was for you to forgive Arnulf—I couldn't blame you either, because it was just as hard for me to forgive Michael."

"Ah, well," Christian said, "but Arnulf at least never killed anyone in all the time he was cracking the proverbial whip over me." He hesitated, then added with comical doubt, "I don't _think_ he did, anyway…"

Leslie snickered, and they both started laughing, squeezing each other. She felt him shift the umbrella to check his watch, tipping a small waterfall off it as he tilted his wrist back, and then he asked, "What time did Sgt. Calabrese tell us the safecracker was going to be at the station, then? If there's time, I'd like to look around this town just a little."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and grinned. "She said he won't be there till two this afternoon. I lived here for five years and never got to play tourist. Let's do it."

‡ ‡ ‡

Just before two o'clock, Christian and Leslie parked at Susanville police headquarters and dashed through what had turned into a downpour to get inside. This time they had a little more company. Calabrese and Kate, along with an unseen dispatcher, had been the only occupants of the building when they had first arrived the previous day; now several policemen were hanging around in the reception area, and they all looked around when the Enstads came in. Kate saw their expressions and laughed. "Word's gotten around," she said apologetically. "These rubberneckers are Officers Peterson and Doyle, Captain Vinson, and retired Sergeant Bill MacGonagle. And guys, the lady here is Leslie Hamilton, now Enstad, and that's her husband Christian, who used to be a prince in Europe someplace."

Christian had started to laugh at her description of him when he noticed Leslie staring at the oldest of the men standing behind Kate's desk. Catching himself, he said, "Are you all right, Leslie?"

"I remember you," Leslie said, still gaping at MacGonagle. She was so amazed that she said exactly what was on her mind. "You said I'd have to learn to live with what had happened, the day after the fire, and I was so mad at you—" Belatedly she realized what she was saying and clapped a hand over her mouth with a mortified groan.

MacGonagle, a stocky man with sparse gray hair and a neat little paunch, gave her a sheepish grin. "I never forgot that, young lady," he told her. "Michele gave me ten kinds of hell for saying that, but it took me a while to realize that I could've been a little more tactful. I'm a little late with the apology, but I'm sorry." He grinned at her. "You seem to've done all right for yourself. You look like someone took good care of you, and since I'm told your fella there used to be a prince, I don't think I need to feel guilty anymore."

Leslie grinned foolishly back. "I thought that's what policemen were supposed to be like," she mumbled, still red-faced. "You know, 'okay, case closed, let's move it, nothing to see around here.' " That touched off an explosion of loud laughter from everyone, bringing Calabrese out from her office to find out what the joke was.

She paused beside Kate's desk and regarded Christian and Leslie with a little smile; Leslie was standing in Christian's protective embrace, his arms encircling her from behind. "The safecracker's due in here any minute," she said. "Doyle over here thought this was worth talking about, once he found out you'd come back after all these years, and he's the one who called Bill." She turned to eye MacGonagle and asked with mock threat, "Did you apologize to Leslie, like I bugged you about in '78?"

"Can it, Calabrese," MacGonagle said and grinned again. "Yeah, I did. Twenty-three years and some months late, but I did. Now where's that damn safecracker? If he wasn't late, we could get this show on the road. Doyle and Peterson here have patrol."

Vinson spoke up, "Hayes and Olsen are still out, so they can go out when those two get back. Kate, you might want to have Lisa call them in if they're not out on some call. How about the rest of us go on back while we're waiting?"

Fifteen minutes passed while Christian and Leslie talked a little about their own lives, primarily the story behind their initial meeting and the reason they had been unable to marry until the previous year. When Christian let slip what he did for a living, Peterson lit up. "No kidding—I've been trying to find somebody who does what you do. My home computer's got some weird bugs in it, and every time I take it off to one of the chain places, they tell me they can't find anything. If you don't mind, maybe you could come out to my place while you're here and take a look at it."

"Peterson," groaned Calabrese and Vinson. Doyle just laughed.

Christian looked intrigued. "It sounds like an interesting challenge. We had planned to leave tomorrow afternoon, but we could stay another day. We did some sightseeing around here before coming in, and it's a very pretty area."

Leslie sighed tolerantly. "You've just unleashed a monster, Officer Peterson," she said. "Put my husband in front of an ailing computer and I won't see him for hours sometimes. I can hardly wait to tell my father why we delayed coming home."

"I mentioned sightseeing," Christian protested, and everyone laughed again. "Fixing Officer Peterson's computer would be just a bonus."

"I'd pay you, naturally," Peterson said hastily. "I don't want you thinking I was just taking advantage. I don't come in here till late afternoon, so if you could drop by in the morning, I'll give you my home address." Christian nodded; Leslie gave Calabrese a look of exaggerated long-suffering that got more laughs.

"Somebody got a safe to open?" a voice asked, and everyone looked around then. A man in a flannel shirt and faded jeans stood in the doorway. "I'm Charlie, by the way."

"The safe in question belongs to the young lady here," MacGonagle said. "Come on in and see if you can solve her mystery." Charlie came in, was introduced and shook hands; then Doyle, Peterson and Vinson dragged the safe into the middle of the floor and Charlie examined it thoughtfully before settling down in front of it.

"Looks like a good safe," he said. "Fireproof too." Leslie went alert, and Christian turned curiously to her.

"Something wrong, my Rose?" he murmured for her ears only.

She shook her head. "Part of the mystery's just been solved," she said softly. "He said it's fireproof. That means Mom must've bought it." Christian nodded understanding and slipped an arm around her.

They'd just settled their stances to watch Charlie preparing to break the combination when two more policemen appeared in the doorway. "Party or something?" one asked.

"The safecracking," someone said, and the newcomers came in. Vinson sent Doyle and Peterson out on patrol; the two shook hands with Leslie and Christian before departing. The newcomers, Hayes and Olsen, joined the group to watch; notably, they didn't ask any further questions, which told the Enstads that everybody on the force was familiar with the story by now.

It reminded Leslie of similar scenes she had watched on TV growing up; Charlie used a stethoscope, very slowly turning the dial and listening for each telltale click. No one breathed a word; when a phone rang somewhere in the building everybody jumped, except for Charlie. When he finally did hear the first click, he looked up and all the others let out loud breaths, then nervous chuckles at themselves. "Why does this feel so much like a crummy TV show?" Calabrese kidded.

"Because it looks like one," Leslie said and grinned. "I was thinking how it looks just like it does on TV."

Christian tightened his hand around her arm. "He's about to listen for the second number in the combination. Hush." She grinned tolerantly and leaned into him.

After several minutes Charlie heard the second click and sat back a little, precipitating another round of exhalations and chuckles. Hayes wrote down the second number in the combination, as he had the first one, and glanced at Leslie, who along with Christian was watching Charlie intently. Now that he was going after the final number, the room was even quieter than before. Leslie became aware that Christian was wound up like a clock beside her, perfectly still, and realized he was as emotionally involved as she was now. Still standing at his side, she turned toward him and wrapped her other arm around his middle, without ever taking her eyes off the safe.

Time seemed to stop while Charlie slowly twisted the knob, one increment at a time, until he stopped, grinned and sat back. "That should do it. Eighteen, Officer Hayes."

The policeman wrote it down, then looked up—and automatically all eyes went to Leslie, whose stomach instantly filled with butterflies. Calabrese came around and looked at her as well. "It's your safe, Leslie," she said gently. "If you'd like to open it…"

Leslie's eyes widened and she turned to Christian, who nodded with eager encouragement. "Go ahead, my Rose…she's right, the safe is yours to open."

"Come with me," she urged hopefully, and Christian smiled.

"I hoped you might ask," he said. "I'll be right beside you. Now, let's find out what's in there." He released her and she moved hesitantly forward while Charlie boosted himself to his feet and backed out of her way; like all the others, he stood and watched Leslie kneel in front of the safe and pull its door open with a shaky hand. Christian crouched beside her and looked on with intense interest.

Leslie tilted forward from her seated position and squinted into the safe's interior, then reached inside and removed the topmost item: an audiocassette tape inside a protective case. There was nothing written on the label. "A tape?" Christian murmured.

"I don't know what's on it," she mused. "Would you hold this, my love?" He nodded and accepted it while she reached in again and next withdrew a shoebox. The name _Ingunna_ was written in pen across the lid, and she drew in a soft breath.

"Ingunna?" Christian read, giving the name its proper pronunciation.

"_Mormor,"_ she said softly, meeting his gaze. They both remembered their long, in-depth conversation over dinner the first time they had gone out together, during which she had mentioned her grandmother in passing: _"You call your grandmother_ mormor?" _Christian asked in astonishment._

"_We always did," Leslie told him and then grinned self-consciously. "She came from Sweden, and we learned to call her _mormor_ because Mom taught us to, from our infancy. I think it made her feel more at home somehow. I never thought of her as anything else."_

"_Who would have thought that an American girl would use the Swedish name for her grandmother," Christian marveled and grinned. "I think I'm half in love with you already." He said it jokingly, and they both laughed, raising their glasses of Dom Perignon in an impromptu toast to Ingunna._

"I wasn't actually joking about being half in love with you," he whispered, and she smiled a little mistily. "So this must have been something of hers, then. I see more in there, you'd better get it out."

She handed him the shoebox and reached inside once more; this time she withdrew two large photo albums, wrapped in a protective clear plastic bag. "Oh, my God," Leslie breathed. "I remember these…I thought…"

"That they were gone forever," Christian filled in and smoothed her hair. "It seems you didn't lose quite everything after all."

"I guess not," Leslie murmured, overwhelmed.

"There's something else in there too, Mrs. Enstad, I can see something light on the bottom," said Officer Olsen suddenly, catching their attention. "You should check."

Mystified, Leslie turned back to the safe and reached inside one last time, withdrawing a plain white business envelope. Her own name was written across the front. "That's Mom's handwriting," she realized. Instantly her eyes filled with tears and she stared up at Christian. "I can't believe all this…"

He tipped forward and kissed her forehead. "It must seem like Christmas to you. I can just imagine. Just to be certain, see if that's the last." She patted around inside the safe, but it was now empty.

"Guess that SOB didn't steal as much from you as he hoped to," MacGonagle remarked, and everyone stared at him, startled. He reddened and grinned. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Leslie said wryly. "You had him pegged." Her grin made them all laugh with relief; Christian gracefully arose and helped Leslie up as well. "You know," she mused, looking around, "I was scared to death when I first got that letter. I didn't think it could be anything good…but it was. I wish I had more than just a simple thank you…"

"That's enough for us," Calabrese said. "It kind of gave us a happy ending to your story, actually. It never really went away, between the way it happened, that vacant lot sitting untouched for all those years, and no word about what became of you. Seems to me you were taken in by someone who really cared about you, and you went on to marry someone else who really cares about you. I hope this doesn't sound too forward, Mr. Enstad, but I wish my husband was half as romantic with me as you are with Leslie."

Christian laughed aloud. "I think it was a requirement of my station in life," he said jokingly. "We can probably blame the Brothers Grimm for setting such high expectations of us princes." Amid the laughter, he looked at Leslie again. "I'm sure you're dying to look at all these treasures of yours, hm?"

"Perishing as you speak, my love," Leslie said, grinning. "This was a much nicer surprise than I'd anticipated. Thank you all, again, from the bottom of my heart."

The entire group escorted the Enstads out to the reception area, and Calabrese went so far as to give Leslie a quick hug. "I'm glad you're all right," she said quietly. "Now I don't have to wonder what sort of gruesome fate you might have gone off to. It was good to see you well and happy, Leslie, and stay that way."

She regarded Calabrese with a faint smile, remembering the day after the fire, and said softly, "Thank you for being there for me that day."

Calabrese smiled too, clearly understanding exactly what she meant. "Least I could do. Scoot, kiddo, and go check out your treasures."

Christian drove back to the inn where they were staying and retreated with Leslie to their room, where they regarded the items that were finally seeing daylight after more than two decades. "Where should I start?" Leslie mumbled, staring in wonder.

"With this," Christian told her, picking up the envelope and handing it to her. "You say it's your mother's handwriting on the front. I expect it's a letter to you."

She settled on the edge of the bed and regarded the envelope while he sat beside her and put his arm around her again. "Are you going to read it?" he prompted, gently teasing.

"I'm almost scared to," she said softly. "I know that sounds silly, but…"

"No, it doesn't," Christian said. "I think I'd be in the same emotional state if I were ever to discover a letter Mother left me." Leslie looked at him curiously, and he smiled with some rue. "I've been through the loss of four family members in my lifetime," he said. "I can't remember Grandfather Lukas' funeral, and I felt empty at my father's…no emotion at all. I wasn't rejoicing at his death, but I couldn't find any tears for him either. And of course, you saw me last summer when Arnulf died. But Mother…I did cry at Mother's funeral. You'll remember I told you that she gave me the capacity to love. She could be cool and formal, but I have many memories of her comforting me when I was small, letting me get away with things that Arnulf and Carl Johan and even Anna-Laura couldn't. I was always secure in the knowledge that she loved me. If I were to find an unexpected letter from her, I have a feeling I'd be as overwhelmed as you are now."

Leslie leaned toward him and kissed his cheek with a gentle, lingering touch. "If you only knew how grateful and happy I am that you're here with me. You've been my rock all the way through this. I love you so much, Christian." He huddled her closer and she smiled a little, feeling calmer. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

"Please," he said, "I'd like very much to hear it. I think it might give me a little glimpse of your mother." They smiled at each other; then she pulled in a breath, unsealed the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper which she slowly unfolded. The handwriting filled nearly the whole page, and Leslie swallowed a little thickly before she began.

"_Dear Leslie, I don't know how long it will be till you find this. I hope it won't be long after the fire. Maybe I should have told you before—I don't know. I started to on so many occasions, and then I changed my mind. Giving you my foreknowledge wouldn't do you any good. You'll have a difficult enough time coping after it's all happened._

"_I won't pretend I'm not afraid of what I know is coming. But I do know that I can take some steps to save some things for you, so that you'll have a little something to keep your memories alive after we're gone. This safe will hold only so many items and I had to really think about what I should put in here. This letter will be the last thing to go in before I lock it for the final time. I knew you always loved looking at these two photo albums, so of course they had to be here; and the shoebox that belonged to your _mormor_ is all that's left of her belongings now. It's only right that it survive and go to you._

"_And I'm going to make a tape of you girls and me together, sometime in the next few days. I feel as if I'm racing a clock here—Mr. Roarke didn't tell me what date the fire was going to take place, so I have the horrible, sick feeling of living on borrowed time. I can only hope that after you go to Fantasy Island and he takes you in, he might be willing to explain to you how I know what I know. He'll be raising you, Leslie, and I hope you'll be happy with him and let him teach you what you need to know to be a happy and productive adult. In the meantime, I just want you to know that I love you. I always will, even when I'm gone and have no way to say it to you. It's not much of a legacy, but it's from my heart._

"_Try to be happy, Leslie, my precious little girl. I hope you can heal enough to do that for me one day. I love you, honey. All my love, Mom."_

Leslie's throat closed off and she began to cry; and for once, Christian didn't plead with her not to. As much as she knew it affected him, he still gave her the gift of allowing her this emotion, and she vowed to thank him for it later while she clung to him and wept into his shoulder, while he held her tightly and rested his head against hers and stroked her hair in slow, soothing motions.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- April 25, 2002

"I still don't like this," Christian said uneasily, bringing the car to a stop in front of the vacant lot at 85 Banner Street. "I don't think this is good for you, my Rose."

"The dragon isn't dead yet, my darling," she said and smiled at him. "I know you're worried for me, Christian, and I love you for it…and I love you even more for letting me go through with it. I have to stop letting this memory leave that bitter taste in my mouth."

Christian regarded her with a great deal of trepidation. "I think the thing that bothers me the most is that you're suddenly insisting on going in there alone."

"The moon's almost full," said Leslie and grinned. "I'll be able to see just fine." It was a little past seven in the evening, and the sky had finally cleared just before sunset.

"You're too cavalier about this," Christian said, shaking his head. "Leslie, if I thought you'd let me, I'd simply check us out of the inn and drive right back to Reno with you—but I have a sneaking feeling you wouldn't speak to me all the way there."

She shrugged, beginning already to sink into a pensive mood. "It's just something I have to do," she said. "When I can go in there alone without breaking down, without cursing Michael and without seeing that burning house, then the dragon'll be dead." She tipped aside to kiss him. "Why don't you wait for me here."

"I think not," Christian said stonily. "I'll wait for you right on the edge of the lot, but I won't just sit in the car. If I see anything that sets off alarms for me, I'm coming after you. Do you understand me?"

Leslie studied him, loving him, hearing that old commanding tone again and finding herself gently amused by it. "As you wish, Your Highness," she said softly.

But he wasn't in the mood to be teased. "I mean it, Leslie," he warned her.

Very quietly, she sighed. "All right, Christian," she said in a patient voice. "Come on, then. It's time for me to do something about this once and for all." She got out of the car, and he immediately followed, staying no more than three steps behind her while she skirted the edge of the lot and paused about midway along. Though she wasn't facing Christian, she could see his shadow, cast by the nearly full moon. She knew he was watching her intently, waiting for her to snap. _Well, I won't,_ she decided firmly. _It has to stop somewhere. What Michael Hamilton did has given me too much grief for too much of my life, and enough is enough._ She drew herself up straight and plowed into the grass with determination.

Christian, for his part, stood there watching her go, tense with fear and his incredible love for her, battling his need to offer protection that she wouldn't welcome. Without his realizing it, his hands slowly curled into fists and his body went taut, ready to seize any excuse at all to rush in and rescue her.

"Hey, mister, you okay?" asked a somewhat hesitant voice from nearby.

Christian started violently and whipped around to find himself looking at a young boy, clad in jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket, standing a few yards away peering warily at him. "Who are you, young man?" he asked, more sternly than he'd meant to.

"Ryan Colson," the boy said. "I live down the street from here." He followed Christian's gaze, which had inexorably returned to the moon-silvered figure still forging ahead, and asked, "Who's that lady? How come she's going in there?"

"She's my wife," Christian said a little distantly, eyes fixed on her. "She has to…or she thinks she does."

"How come?" Ryan wanted to know. "You look like you're mad about it."

Christian, becoming aware that he was poised for flight and ready to quite literally administer a beating to Leslie's demons, forced himself to relax and shoved his hands into his pockets. The kid had no idea what was going on here, he realized. He took a deep breath, exhaled loudly and explained, "She lived here once, many years ago."

Ryan's mouth fell open and his eyes popped. "You mean…that burned-down house was her house? What's her name, mister?"

"Leslie," Christian said, unaware of the caressing tone in his voice as he spoke the name. "When she lived here, her last name was Hamilton. Her entire family died in the fire; she was the only one who lived, and she saw it all."

"Whoa," Ryan breathed, awestruck. "When was that?"

"She was thirteen then," said Christian, unable to keep from looking back at Leslie again. "Her own father set the fire himself, and she saw it all happen. She couldn't stop him, or he would have probably killed her as well."

"Whoa," Ryan said again. "Y'know, mister, the kids around here say this place is haunted. They say there's ghosts in here and stuff. Sometimes these guys I know come in here and go treasure-hunting, but I think they only ever find silverware and stuff. But nobody knows what really happened. Man, I never thought it was like that." He eyed Christian curiously. "She's your wife? What's your name, mister?"

Christian looked at him in surprise. "Christian Enstad," he said.

Ryan offered a hand and said, "Hi, Mr. Enstad."

Feeling slightly absurd, Christian reached out and shook hands with the solemn boy. "What was your name again?"

"Ryan Colson. I'm ten. Maybe I shouldn't've done it, but…I kinda went treasure-hunting in there too," Ryan admitted, abashed. "Those guys dared me to go in, but I didn't feel right about it. But, well, I always wanted to solve mysteries like the Hardy Boys, and I could see all those ashes, and I thought there might be a mystery in there I could try to solve. I thought maybe I could find out what might've really happened. So I went in and I was lookin' for clues, and I didn't find any, but I did find a safe…"

Christian stared at him. "So you're the boy who found it," he said, his voice warming.

Ryan shrugged. "Yeah," he said, "but my dad made me take it to the police. He said if there was anything in it, it belonged to somebody else."

"It did," Christian said gently. "It belonged to my wife, and the police opened the safe for her so that she could get those things. Why don't you stay here and wait, Ryan—Leslie will want to thank you for finding it."

Ryan shrugged. "Okay," he agreed. "But how come she's going in there?"

"She saw the fire, and she knew her mother and her two sisters were trapped inside the house," Christian said, choosing his words carefully. "It gave her nightmares for many years, and it took her a long time to be happy again. This is the first time Leslie's come back since the fire. She wanted to…banish the ghosts, I think."

"So there really are ghosts in there," Ryan said, impressed. "Awesome."

Puzzled, Christian stared at him again. "What does that mean, 'awesome'?"

"It's really cool," Ryan tried to explain. "I mean…it's something good."

"You really think so?" Christian asked softly, again letting his gaze stray back to Leslie, who now stood still with her face turned toward the sky. "Do you think it's such a good thing to see the ghosts of your family before you, in your dreams every night, knowing they can never come back to you? It seems something other than…'awesome' to me." The unfamiliar slang word felt strange on his tongue, and Ryan clearly noticed.

"Sometimes you have…an accent, Mr. Enstad," he said hesitantly, as if trying not to say something offensive. "Not all the time, but some words, you say funny…I mean, in a different way. Are you from someplace else?"

Christian nodded, faintly amused. "I come from a country called Lilla Jordsö," he explained. "I was born and raised there. It's an island in Europe. I started to learn English as a small boy, but it's not quite perfect even so."

"You speak great English, Mr. Enstad," Ryan offered. "I mean, you talk a lot better than the guys around here." He followed Christian's gaze in Leslie's direction. "She looks like she's lookin' at something."

"I expect she is," Christian said softly. _Those demons of hers, _he thought,_ or possibly the ghosts Ryan thinks are so…"awesome". A strange word, that._ He smiled slightly.

"Maybe she's seein' the fire and stuff," Ryan mumbled thoughtfully. "If it was me, that's probably what I'd see."

A soft, pleading sound drifted to their ears then. "Mom…" Both Ryan and Christian turned to stare at Leslie, who stood stock-still in the overgrown yard, face still tilted skyward and lit by the moon. "Kristy? Kelly?"

Christian tensed again and actually took a step forward. Ryan asked, "Who're Kristy and Kelly? Her sisters?"

"Yes," Christian said, all his attention on Leslie. "Oh, God, I think she's lost the battle after all. No…"

Then, out of nowhere, Leslie shrieked and stumbled backwards, tripping on something and falling out of sight into the grass. It was too much for Christian to take and he charged into the yard, frantic. "Leslie! Leslie, are you all right?"

"I saw something in there," she cried, staring at him with huge, panicked eyes. "I saw it, Christian—look!" She struggled to her feet while he shot a glance into the debris-strewn foundation without seeing anything. "Something moved in there."

"I can't—" Christian began, only to see a pale shape rising over the top of the huge heap of ashes in the center of the foundation. He stared in disbelief. _"Heilige hjusande ödet!!"_

"Why didn't you save us?" wailed a voice, freezing them both. "Why?"

"_Nooooo!!" _Leslie screamed and started to back away. Christian cursed sharply and caught her, hugging her hard.

"What the hell is going on in there?" he demanded, very angry.

"Curtis Ward, you big jerk!" Ryan yelled unexpectedly, surging forward past Leslie and Christian and leaping into the foundation. "I know it's you under that sheet, you big freaking idiot! You got some nerve, scarin' this poor lady like that!"

Christian had to admire the kid; it probably took a lot for him to stand up to this troublemaker in defense of two complete strangers. But his real fear was for Leslie, whose face was pure white, her eyes enormous and blank. Terror flooded him and he insisted, "Leslie, look at me! Look at me, please! It's not real—it's some child playing a cruel trick, do you understand?" He turned her head till she faced him. "Leslie, do you hear me?" She was still as a statue, and the look in her eyes made him frantic with fright. He shook her a little in his desperation, his voice rising. "It's not real!"

Ryan had struggled to the top of the ash pile and was wrestling with somebody up there. Voices penetrated Christian's consciousness and he looked around, seeing lights on in the surrounding houses and some of the neighbors gathering in yards and on the street. The house next door was a Cape whose top window was visible over the fence; someone leaned out, staring on. "You need help?" a voice called.

"Get the police," he burst out, so terrified for Leslie that it was all he could think of. "Ask for Sergeant Calabrese…" He turned back to her and shook her again. "Leslie, please, for God's sake, snap out of it…it's just a cruel trick, don't you hear me?"

"I couldn't save them," Leslie said suddenly in a high, pleading voice, the voice of a bereft little girl. "They were screaming in there and I couldn't go in…I waited for them to come out…" Then her eyes cleared and focused, and she gasped, "Christian!"

"Oh, God!" he cried, and all of a sudden he broke down completely. "Leslie, oh, my Leslie Rose…" He seized her and hugged her so hard that she could feel his ribs as he crushed her against him. "My darling, I thought I had lost you…"

"Christian, Christian, my love, it's all right! I'm okay!" she exclaimed softly, trying to calm him. "Don't cry like this, my darling, please! I'm fine, I promise you!"

People were gathering around them, some staring at them, others at the brawl going on in the foundation. Leslie noticed a familiar figure coming toward them and blinked: it was Melinda Sansome. "Are you guys okay?" Melinda asked anxiously. "What the heck's going on over there?"

Leslie looked around, cradling a still-sobbing Christian, and stared in astonishment at the two boys pummeling each other. "Christian was right," she realized. "It was some kid in a sheet all the time, wasn't it?" She looked around at Melinda. "I needed to come back here and chase the ghosts away once and for all…and I think I finally succeeded. When I called the twins' names and there wasn't any answer…that's when I knew. But then that kid in the sheet started jumping around in there and for a minute I thought all those damn nightmares had finally come true. Oh, poor Christian…" She turned back to him and tried to soothe him. "Calm down, my love, please. It's all right."

"My God," Christian gasped, trying to pull himself back together. "Never in all my life have I been that frightened of anything…I thought that foolish child had finally pushed you over the edge. Leslie, are you really all right? You're very certain?"

"I'm positive," she said and smiled at him, smoothing his hair. "Did…did someone run past us a couple minutes ago? I mean—I see two boys in there."

Christian followed her gaze and suddenly grinned through the last of his tears. "It was Ryan," he said. "The same boy who found your safe, my darling." He hugged her again and groaned softly. "What a hell of a night this has been. Maybe you've finally beheaded the dragon, but did you have to involve the entire neighborhood?"

Leslie giggled and Melinda laughed beside her. At the same moment two adults brought Ryan and the other boy out of the foundation, and a patrol car came to a halt on the street, completing the absurd scene. "I hope this doesn't make tomorrow's paper," Leslie remarked facetiously.

"_Må sanktarna hålla plass till mej,"_ came Christian's exhausted mutter, and she giggled softly again and squeezed him before pulling her head back enough to look into his anxious eyes. "Tell me again you're all right, my Rose."

"I'm fine," she said gently, "and I love you, Christian, so much, for putting up with all this. I'm sorry it got so crazy."

"I don't think it's anyone's fault," Christian said a little shakily, catching sight of the two subdued boys and noting a police officer crossing toward them. To his surprise, he recognized Peterson from that afternoon. "Oh, _herregud."_

Leslie laughed, kissing him quickly. "Hi, Officer Peterson."

"Hi, Mrs. Enstad…are you two okay?" Peterson asked. "What happened?"

"A comedy of errors, I think," Leslie said in amusement. "What it boiled down to was me laying some ghosts to rest, some kid playing a trick, my poor husband getting the scare of his life…and maybe the time finally coming to tell the truth about this place."

"Oh," Christian broke in, "and a young man who I think deserves a reward for being a bit of a hero." He cleared his throat. "Ryan?"

Ryan Colson looked around and peered at them, then gasped when he saw Peterson. "Holy smokes, Mr. Enstad, you're not havin' me arrested, are you?"

"Good Lord, no," Christian said through a laugh. "Not even close, Ryan. I just wanted to introduce you to my wife Leslie. My Rose, this is Ryan Colson—he's the boy who found your mother's safe. And he tried to defend you against the boy playing that trick on you."

Leslie's eyes widened momentarily with understanding and gratitude, and she stuck her hand out at Ryan. "Hi, Ryan…and thank you."

Ryan shook hands, his eyes big with fascination. "Did you really used to live in this house that was here, Mrs. Enstad?" His question set off surprised murmurings in their ragtag, impromptu audience, and Leslie looked around at the gathering, at Melinda, and then at Christian, who had finally calmed again but was still trembling a little from adrenaline withdrawal. Christian smiled faintly and she returned it.

"Yep," she said softly to Ryan, "I did. I guess you kids think there are ghosts in those ashes somewhere. In a way, there were…but I've laid them to rest now." She focused on the boy and smiled at him. "So you found my mother's safe, huh?"

Ryan nodded sheepishly. "I hope there was somethin' nice in it."

"There was," Leslie assured him. "Some very nice things. I was supposed to have gotten them a long time ago, and if it hadn't been for you, maybe I never would have gotten them at all." She looked back at Christian and took his hand. "I think you're right…Ryan should get a reward."

"No way, really?" Ryan asked, astonished.

"Sure," Leslie said. "What would you like?"

Ryan gaped at her while Peterson, Melinda and the lingering crowd watched. "Gee, I dunno, Mrs. Enstad…I mean, I wasn't really even supposed to be messin' around in there." He slanted Peterson a wary glance, and the policeman grinned.

"Considering the outcome, I think we can overlook it this time," Peterson said and gestured at Leslie. "Tell the lady what you'd like."

Ryan peered up at Leslie with a hopeful look. "I wanted a GameBoy for my birthday," he confessed, "but I didn't get it. Would it be okay if I asked for one of those?"

Leslie grinned. "You got it, Ryan," she said. "Before we leave for home tomorrow, we'll make sure you get it."

"Awesome," Ryan said happily. For some reason Christian started to laugh, and all the others joined in.


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- April 26, 2002

They were sitting in the den at the Petersons' house late the next morning; Christian was deep into examining their computer, and Leslie, Peterson and his wife Amy were watching and having a conversation. "That poor kid," Leslie said over her orange juice, shaking her head. "He was afraid Christian had called you out to have him arrested."

Peterson laughed. "When I found out what was really going on, I felt like arresting that other kid. Doyle was standing around asking questions, and when he heard the whole thing he said it reminded him of that old documentary 'Scared Straight'. That Ward kid looked like he'd had the fear of God stricken into him."

"I think he deserved it," Christian said from the computer, double-clicking on an icon and starting a search. "After what he did…"

"What happened?" Amy asked. She knew full well who Leslie was; in fact, she had astonished the Enstads by exclaiming upon meeting them that she had been in the same classes with Kristy and Kelly during the last two years of the twins' lives.

"I needed to get over my fear of that place," Leslie said. "I knew I did. Christian had some very strong objections, but it was something I simply had to do. He was waiting for me at the edge of the lot when Ryan Colson apparently showed up and they started talking. I was still looking for my own ghosts, because just being on the site seemed to awaken every last little detail of my memories of that night in 1978. I finally thought, maybe if I addressed them directly, they'd stop bothering me…so I called for my mother, and then the twins' names, and I didn't hear any replies at all, even in my head. That was when I realized that I'd already laid them to rest—Christian and I visited their graves yesterday morning and I shared some memories with him, and that's what must've done it.

"Anyway…I was just about to turn around and tell Christian that it was all over, and then I saw something move in the foundation. It scared me to death and I yelped and tried to back up, and tripped and fell over something. Christian came flying in asking what was wrong, and I told him I saw something. At first he didn't get it, and then I guess he saw it too because he cursed in _jordiska_. At that point, a voice wanted to know why I didn't save them…meaning the twins, I guess. The voice sounded just way too much like Kelly when she used to try to scare Kristy sometimes. I mean—I can't remember anymore what the twins sounded like, but the way that kid said that must have lit up some dormant memory in the bottom of my brain someplace. I just thought, _oh my God, it's Kelly._ And I screamed and tried to back away…and I think Christian was yelling at me, and I seem to remember somebody running past us. And then I realized that there was just no way I could ever have gotten into that house and saved Mom and the twins. It woke me up and I saw poor Christian standing there with the most frightened, terrified expression I've ever seen on anyone, and I understood then. I really had laid the ghosts to rest, but I had to explain it to him." She smiled at Christian, who looked faintly sheepish.

"What was that kid doing there in the first place?" Amy asked.

"It seems," Peterson said with a grin, "that Ryan Colson, the kid who found Leslie's safe, just moved here with his parents a few weeks ago and was still trying to make friends. He was considering joining a group of boys who tried to terrorize all the other neighborhood kids, and there was evidently supposed to be some type of 'initiation'. The other kid, Curtis Ward, must have been there for a while with one of his mother's bedsheets, waiting for Ryan to show up so he could scare the guano out of him. Only trouble is, when Ryan got there, he found Christian waiting for Leslie, and they started talking. Curtis heard Leslie calling her mother and sisters, and evidently the kid couldn't resist trying to scare _some_body, whoever it might have been. So he pretended to be a ghost, and it happened to click with Leslie. By then I guess Christian and Ryan had been talking enough that Ryan knew the basic story, and he got mad at the Ward kid and took off to give him what-for for scaring Leslie. A couple of the neighbors had to go in and break up the fight, and we had to deliver Ryan and Curtis back to their parents. By the way, Leslie, the Colsons had some strenuous objections about the GameBoy for Ryan, so if you and Christian don't mind, maybe I can take you over there and you can explain things to Mrs. Colson."

"No problem," said Leslie, reminded of something. "Oh, do you have a pen I could borrow for a minute? I need to sign this card for Ryan." She picked up the thank-you card that she and Christian had picked out when they'd bought the GameBoy, which now lay wrapped in festive birthday-party paper donated by Amy.

"Christian, there's a pen lying near the monitor there," Peterson said, and Christian found it and passed it over to Leslie. "So anyway, I think things are gonna work out for everybody. I have a sneaky feeling the Banner Street gang's going to cease to exist, and with Ryan being a local hero for finding that safe, he might suddenly become pretty popular at his school." They all laughed, and Leslie passed the card and pen to Christian.

The computer beeped as Christian completed signing, and he looked around. "Well, I think I've found it," he said, grinning. "You have teenagers, Officer Peterson?"

Peterson sat up and leaned forward. "Yeah, Josh is fourteen. How come?"

"This is what's been causing the glitches in your computer," Christian said, leaning back in the chair and chuckling. "He seems to have tried to download a massive game from the Internet not so long ago, and the program was so large that it would have taken up all the remaining hard-drive space in the machine. He must have realized it at some point and stopped the download, then tried to clean out the program. But these things always leave traces behind, and they've been there ever since then, playing occasional havoc with your computer." He laughed at the look Peterson and Amy exchanged. "So it's quite simple, and that's the reason those chain stores kept telling you there was nothing wrong. Technically, there wasn't. It's ultimately harmless, but let me clean out the rest of it for you anyway." He turned back to the computer and began the task.

"That's amazing," Amy remarked, shaking her head. "Honey, maybe Josh was right: we need to find him his own computer. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, but I'm so tired of his trying to download games off the net, I'm ready to give up."

Peterson chuckled. "Me too. I'll keep an eye out for something. Christian, I can't tell you what a relief it is to find it's something minor after all. You're a lifesaver."

"Oh, it's nothing really," Christian said with a shrug, tucking the card into its envelope and passing it back over to Leslie. "I'm glad I could help." In a few more minutes he completed the cleanup and restored the Petersons' computer to its normal settings, then stood and stretched. "I think we're ready. Mrs. Peterson, I thank you for the coffee—I get coffee that good only in my own house." They all laughed; a few minutes later Peterson was leading the way back to Banner Street with Christian and Leslie behind him in their rental car. On the way down, Leslie glanced thoughtfully at the vacant lot as they passed by it, and shook her head a little.

"Are you all right, my darling?" Christian asked.

She turned and smiled at him. "I'm fine," she assured him. "The ghosts are gone now, and I'll never have that same fear of the place—or the memory—again."

Christian's smile was relieved. "I'm very glad to hear it. You had me so worried, my Rose. Perhaps now Mr. Roarke won't decide to do me in for unhinging his daughter's mind." He grinned at her.

"Only with your kisses, my love," Leslie teased him, grinning back. They laughed, and Christian brought the car to a halt behind Peterson's, in front of a house at 115 Banner Street. They joined hands and followed Peterson to the front door; when he rang the bell, a startled woman answered it and blinked at them all.

"There's no trouble, Mrs. Colson," Peterson assured her. "The couple with me here are Christian and Leslie Enstad—Mrs. Enstad used to live with her family at the house that once stood on the lot at number 85."

"Oh my word…you're the Hamilton girl," Mrs. Colson said, astonished. "After Officer Peterson here brought Ryan home, I thought I'd see what the story was about and went into the online archives for the local paper. What an unbelievable tragedy. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Leslie said and smiled. "Mrs. Colson, we want to give Ryan something. He found that safe that my mother left behind. If it hadn't been for your son, I'd never have gotten back some things that Mom meant for me to have after the fire. It's only right that Ryan have a reward."

"But a GameBoy?" Mrs. Colson protested. "We couldn't afford one when he asked for it for his birthday last month, otherwise we'd have gotten it. It's too much, Mrs. Enstad."

"Not for what Ryan did for me," Leslie said softly, handing her the wrapped gift and the card. "He gave me back something that's worth a lot more than any GameBoy could cost us. Please, let me do this for him."

Mrs. Colson sighed and accepted it, looking up with a rueful little smile. "You're going to be Ryan's heroine now. Thank you…and I'm glad you found a happy ending."

They all exchanged goodbyes, and Peterson accompanied the Enstads across the front yard and paused between the cars. "You, uh…you were adopted by Mr. Roarke, weren't you? I think I heard Sgt. Calabrese filling someone in on it yesterday after lunch. I was just curious. What're you gonna tell him about your trip to Susanville? I mean…I just hope you aren't regretting coming back."

"No," Leslie said, "I think I needed to come back. I had a lot of things I had to knock down to size, and I owed Mom and the twins a visit." She leaned into Christian's one-armed embrace and looked up at him. "I know one thing for sure…I couldn't have done it without Christian. It would have been too much for me alone."

Christian glanced at her and shrugged, smiling a little. "It gave me the chance to fill in some of her personal history, and I've found it a very stimulating experience. Susanville is a very pretty place."

Peterson grinned at that and said, "Thanks—I think it's cool myself. Amy grew up here, and she talked me into buying a house here years ago when I'd saved up enough to start looking. How long did you live here, Leslie?"

"Five years," she said. "I was born in Connecticut, and I imagine one day I'll have to take Christian back there too, but this was the place where my whole life changed. And to think it all started because a ten-year-old boy was trying to solve a mystery."

"Yeah, a scream, huh?" Peterson chuckled and they laughed together. "Well, then, have a safe trip back to Fantasy Island, and thanks again for the computer fix, Christian. And you better cash that check, because otherwise I'll get hell from Amy for taking advantage of you, which was never my intention."

Christian had to laugh. "Well, I'd hate to be the cause of major marital discord between you two, so all right, I promise to cash it when we get home. Thank you for everything, and please pass our thanks along to the other officers, especially Sgt. Calabrese."

Peterson promised, and they all shook hands and bade one another farewell. Leslie and Christian returned to the inn and packed; Leslie, after some thought, tucked everything from the safe into the duffel she had used as a carry-on. "I think I'm going to take a look at _mormor_'s things on our flight back to Hawaii," she said. "I'm dying to find out what Mom thought was so important as to be worth saving."

"You're not the only curious one," Christian agreed. "If we hurry, we should reach the airport exactly on time for check-in, and then we can try to relax a little at our gate."

Several hours later, in the air and well out over the Pacific Ocean, Leslie extracted the shoebox from her duffel, resettled herself in her seat and set the box on her lap while Christian watched interestedly. "It feels a little like a connection," she said softly to him. "_Mormor_ was the only grandparent still alive when I was born, and she moved in with us the last year before she died. I gave her my room and crammed in with the twins. But I used to spend a lot of time in her room with her, and I remember just after she moved in, I was helping her get settled and I found an old travel pamphlet for Fantasy Island. I asked about it and she told me a little about it, and about Father…she had to have known I was going there. I'm sure Mom told her the story. We'd sit and talk…I can still hear her voice sometimes in my head, telling me stories about when she was a little girl in Sweden, trying to teach me songs in Swedish, things like that." She met Christian's intrigued gaze. "I wish the language had stuck, but I didn't know I was going to meet you."

Christian laughed softly. "Why don't you open that box before we both expire from curiosity. You've done enough stalling."

"Guess so," Leslie agreed and grinned. "Okay, well, here goes." She slowly lifted the lid off the box; the bright light over her seat revealed two packets of sepia-toned photographs lying atop a small hardcover book. "Oh my gosh…look at this!"

"I wonder how old those photos are?" Christian murmured, gazing on.

"This must have been _mormor_ in her childhood," Leslie breathed, slowly filing through the first package of pictures, most of the same towheaded little girl in old-fashioned clothes, sometimes alone, sometimes with other people.

"Is there anything on the back?" Christian asked.

"I didn't even think of that," Leslie said and went back to the first picture, turning it over and finding something in Swedish on the reverse side. "Wow. Here's where you get to play translator, my love. What's that?"

Christian took the picture, reading the note on the back. "_Familjen i gården._ That is, 'The family in the yard.' The date says August of 1916. When was your grandmother born?"

"If I remember right, Mom said she was born in October 1909," Leslie said. "She'd have been almost seven in that picture. Do the others say similar things?" They went through the assorted pictures, with Christian translating the notations on the backs, and then turned to the second packet of pictures. The one on top this time was of Ingunna standing alone in front of a horse and carriage, both of which were liberally decked out with flowers, as if they had been part of some parade. She found another note on the back and gave it to Christian.

"_Här står jag i huvudsta'n,"_ Christian read, "meaning 'here I stand in the capital.' It sounds as if your grandmother visited Stockholm at some time."

"Maybe she did. She never told me about it," Leslie mused and looked at the next photo—and gasped. "That can't be possible. Christian, does this look familiar to you?" She handed him the photo, and his mouth dropped open.

"Didn't you say your grandmother visited Lilla Jordsö as a child? This is the castle!" he breathed, eyes huge with amazement. He flipped it over and read the back. "Yes, it says _'det kungliga slottet'_. The date here is June 1920." They looked at each other in astonishment, then eagerly began going through the rest of the pictures. It seemed the Hansson family had really played tourists; Christian recognized many of the scenes in the pictures, and marveled again and again at the way they had looked so many years before he himself had grown up among them.

But it was the last photograph that stunned them both. Ten-year-old Ingunna was posed with five other people: the then-current royal family. Christian could only whisper as he translated the note on the back: " 'Here I am with King Erik XIII, Queen Agneta, Prince Lukas, Princess Julia and little Prince Arnulf. Three days after the coronation'." He stared at the image in transfixed fascination. "That's right…I remember now. My great-grandfather took over the throne on June 17, 1920—so that means this was taken on June 20. I've never seen any photos of my father as a child."

"I can see some of your features in his face," Leslie said softly. "You have the same eyes and chin. And he's standing the way I remember you always did whenever I saw pictures of you at some formal state shindig or another, all straight and regal." She squinted at the image of Arnulf, comparing him with Christian. "This is amazing."

"More than you know," Christian said. "To think our families had contact like that. It almost seems like destiny for you and me."

"But _mormor_ was just a commoner…and from another country at that. How could she have met your father and grandparents and great-grandparents?" Leslie wondered.

Christian smiled and said, "I wouldn't have known, except that when I was nine, I was required to complete some assignment for school that asked us to tell a story about one of our ancestors. Mother helped me with that. She explained that Erik liked to encourage tourism, and from the very beginning of his reign he made it a point a couple of times a week, for an hour or two at a time, to meet visitors from other countries and pose for photos with them, as souvenirs. Somehow, your grandmother was one of the fortunate ones. My father was nearly five years old in this photo—he was born in August of 1915." He peered at it and then eyed Leslie. "You're quite certain you see some of his features in me? Are you sure I don't look solely like my mother?"

She saw the teasing glint in his eye and grinned at him. "Only mostly, my love, sorry about that." They both chuckled quietly and stared at the photo again, silently astounded by the incredible coincidence, both wondering if it might have been fate.

"Wait till Father hears about this," Leslie murmured.

"I look forward to his comments on this one," Christian agreed. "Life truly does work in strange ways." He regarded her for a moment, then gently kissed her. "It seems a small miracle that this survived—not just one but two fires. You did tell me it was the first one that sent you from your home state to California in the first place."

Leslie considered it. "I'm sure Mom must have told _mormor_ what she learned on her trip to Fantasy Island, when she was pregnant with me. For all I know, they cooked up the idea together to save certain things for me. We lost less in the first fire than in the second one. The firemen arrived quickly enough that it was confined mainly to the bedrooms, and I remember Mom bringing me and the twins back there after _mormor_'s funeral so we could try to salvage things. Most of what was left was kitchen stuff, but here and there we found some other things. It was enough that we wound up having to rent a truck to take everything to California with us."

Christian nodded, then happened to glance at the box. "Oh…what's that book?"

"I almost forgot." Leslie lifted out the little hardcover book and opened it. "It looks like a diary…all this handwriting."

Christian grinned slyly. "And of course, it's all in Swedish."

"Of course," she said and gave him a look. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was your way of getting to read my grandmother's diary first." They laughed quietly and linked hands for a moment. "So read to me. I want to know what it says."

The diary, they shortly discovered, was a detailed account of Ingunna's journey around the Lilla Jordsö of 1920, and devoted a fairly lengthy passage to her meeting with the royal family. Christian's voice as he read this was just as intrigued and filled with discovery as Leslie's reactions while she listened. It turned out that Ingunna had been quite taken with Prince Lukas, Christian's grandfather, finding him a charming young man with a very unexpected sense of humor. She wrote of how Lukas had gently teased her a little and then called her a "lovely and intelligent little girl." Christian looked at Leslie and said laughingly, "It sounds to me as if your grandmother had a crush on my grandfather!"

"Maybe she did," Leslie said, grinning. "Kind of like their grandchildren got crushes on each other. How old was your grandfather at the time?"

Christian thought back a moment. "He was born in 1894—like me, he was married young. He and Julia wed in 1914 just less than a year before my father was born, and he was their only child, though I understand they tried to have more. In any case, there was a good fifteen years between Lukas and Ingunna. Frankly, I'm glad about that, or else you and I might have been related—and I don't want to be related to you in any way except as your husband. I'm too deeply in love with you for that."

"Likewise," Leslie said softly, and they shared another kiss. "But I still think it's the most amazing thing. From everything _mormor_ wrote in that diary, she fell in love with the country. It must have stood out in her memory for the rest of her life."

"Seems so," Christian agreed, and resumed reading the diary to her. By the time he had finished, they were on approach to Honolulu and the sky was dark. Because of their late arrival in Hawaii, they had reserved a hotel room, and were so tired that they got through only half of one of the photo albums before deciding to get some sleep.

Saturday morning, they packed quickly and caught a shuttle to the airport, made their way to Gate 18—still the gate that served the Fantasy Island charter exclusively—and presented their passes for return. The staff at the desk recognized them and greeted them warmly, checking off their names for the next flight. They had about half an hour to wait, so they found seats and settled down to look at the photo album they had started on the night before. It contained a surprisingly detailed record in pictures of Leslie's young life, and it amused her to see Christian going back over and over again to her baby pictures, shots of her on her various birthdays, school photos and other things that directly involved her. "You wouldn't be slightly obsessed, would you?" she teased him.

"What do you mean, 'slightly'?" he shot back, and they laughed. "These are things I'm sure you never expected to see again, and I think it's a treat to see you as a little girl. I suppose I can understand your fascination with that pair of scrapbooks my sister and nieces put together. Unfortunately, it consists primarily of media clippings, and I'd far rather there had been more photographs and such things, as in these."

She grinned. "Maybe I'll drop Anna-Laura an e-mail and put a bug in her ear so she can make you a photo album in time for your birthday this year." Christian snorted; she laughed again and they went back to the photo album. The other album had several more pictures, but in this one they found some examples of Leslie's school papers from kindergarten and first grade; an essay she had written in sixth grade that had received a perfect grade and a glowing comment from her teacher; a few drawings Leslie had done; several of Kristy's unicorn drawings, which made Christian laugh and remark that she'd been quite good at drawing horses; a list of silly jokes written out by Kelly; birthday cards from Shannon and the twins across the years; and even a hank of hair, beneath which was a notation in Shannon's handwriting that said, "Leslie, age two." The fine straight strands had been slipped into a tiny plastic bag that had been taped to the page.

They also found photographs of the houses in Plainville and Susanville, neither of which Christian had ever seen before, since Leslie hadn't had copies of either of these in the one small album she'd saved from the fire. "So that's what 85 Banner Street was once like," said Christian. "It looked like quite a nice house…seems to me Michael must have been badly determined to destroy it, if he was willing to go to such an effort and succeeded so tragically. I wonder that you don't still have nightmares."

"Rarely, anymore," Leslie said. "Since I sent his ghost off with Mephistopheles, I've had it only once." She sighed and closed the book. "Well, all that's left is the tape. Mom said in her letter that it was going to be of her and me and the twins, but I really don't remember doing anything like that. There's a cassette player in the spare room at the main house; Father might be interested in listening to it with us."


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- April 28, 2002

They reached Fantasy Island early that afternoon—Sunday in fact, since they crossed the International Date Line again—and were driven to the main house, where they found Roarke dealing with a guest. "But I'm telling you, Mr. Roarke, I wanted Jack to notice me, not Bill!" the woman began, then noticed Roarke's gaze straying and turned to stare at Leslie and Christian in the foyer. "Who are you two?"

"They are my daughter and son-in-law," Roarke answered for them, casting them a quick smile. "One moment, Christian and Leslie. Ms. Gaines, it seems to me that despite your stated wishes, whatever you have been doing to attract Mr. White has failed to do so. I thought you said you knew the man well."

The woman insisted, "I do! You said I'd have my fantasy, so why is Bill the one chasing me instead of Jack? I think I want my money back."

"It's not possible even for me to control the vagaries of love," Roarke said gently, with a swift glance at an amused Christian and Leslie. "However, Ms. Gaines, if you are indeed so determined to win over Mr. White rather than Mr. Jameson, you might consider doing something different—something Mr. White never expected."

"Change tactics," Leslie interjected, unable to keep from slipping into her role as her father's assistant. "Sometimes if you do something a guy had no idea you were capable of doing, it changes the whole way he looks at you. Go out on a limb, if you want him that much. You might be surprised."

The woman stared at her thoughtfully. "You know, that might be just the ticket. I guess another woman would understand these things. Thank you, young lady. I'm going out to start right now." She took off through the French shutters, and when she was safely out of earshot, Roarke, Christian and Leslie all started to laugh.

"Only another woman," Christian said, chortling. "Perhaps it's as well we arrived when we did, or you might have been writing out a check, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke laughed again. "Quite possible! Welcome home, both of you; how did the trip go? I hope you didn't find it too traumatic, Leslie."

She hugged him. "Well, there were some rough spots here and there, but in the end I think I finally conquered the last of the demons. Father, you should only see what I brought home with me. It turned out that what they found was a safe—one Mom bought so that she could protect some things she wanted me to have after the fire. Mom put away two photo albums, some pictures and a diary from my grandmother's trip to Lilla Jordsö, a letter to me, and a cassette tape. We've looked at everything else, but we had no way to play the tape, so I thought we could listen to it here. If you have enough time, I'd like you to hear it too."

Roarke glanced between them. "I believe there are some spare moments. If you'll leave your bags here for now, we can go up and listen to it."

In the spare room Roarke put the cassette into the tape player and started it; then they sat together on the sofa, Leslie in between her father and her husband. Both men anticipated looming emotion on her part, and Roarke took Leslie's left hand while Christian took her right, interlacing their fingers as he so often did. The unrecordable "leader" at the beginning of the tape played out and there was a faint hiss of background noise for a second; then a young girl's voice asked, _"Is it time to talk yet?"_

"Kelly!" Leslie whispered, lurching forward a little. Christian squeezed her hand.

"_I think you can say something,"_ said Shannon Hamilton's voice.

"_Like what?"_ asked what sounded like the same voice. Roarke and Christian saw Leslie mouth the name _Kristy_ and looked at each other over her head.

"_Anything,"_ the woman said with a chuckle.

"_I'll start, then. My name is Kelly Janet Hamilton and I'm eleven years old. And we're recording this tape on August…August…Mom, what's today?"_ The listeners laughed, Leslie through forming tears.

Shannon's voice provided, _"August nineteenth, honey."_

"_Oh yeah. August nineteenth, 1978. And we live at 85 Banner Street, Susanville, California…"_

"_Yak, yak, yak,"_ came a new voice, and Leslie turned so red that Roarke and Christian burst out laughing: for it had been hers_. "Geez, Kelly, say something worth listening to!"_

"_Okay then, that's my sister Leslie, she's thirteen, and she's the bossiest big sister ever,"_ shot back Kelly, which generated still more laughter. Even Leslie was giggling helplessly, though tears still stood in her eyes.

On the tape they could hear laughter in Shannon's voice too. _"Kelly, be nice,"_ she said. _"Let Leslie or Kristy have a turn now."_

"_I don't know what to say, though. How do you talk to somebody you can't see?"_

"_The same way you draw something you can't see, like your stupid old unicorns."_

"_I can see unicorns! I know exactly what they look like."_

"_Yeah, you just don't have any imagination. If unicorns were real, they'd look just like Kristy's."_

"_Well, they're not. And I do too have imagination. I'm the one who thought up that dance that me and Angie did in school right before summer vacation. My teacher said I have a great imagination—so there."_

"_Girls, don't argue, please."_ This through a laugh. _"Talk to us, Kristy."_

"_Who's gonna listen to it, though?"_

"_I dunno. Maybe we're just talking to ourselves."_

"_Yeah—our future selves! When we're all grown up and stuff, we can listen to this and remember what we sound like now. Course, you sound like a dope."_

"_Then so do you, 'cause we sound exactly alike."_ This degenerated into an argument, backed up by Leslie's voice laughing and Shannon trying to defuse the situation; Roarke and Christian, the latter of whom had been laughing helplessly throughout, both turned to Leslie to gauge her reaction. One tear was suspended on her cheek, but she was clearly amused.

"_She started it,"_ came a twin's voice, immediately and predictably followed by_, "I did not, you did!"_ To which Leslie immediately remarked, "She lied."

"How can you tell who said what?" Christian asked, astonished. "The twins do sound exactly alike. How do you know?"

"They were my sisters," Leslie said, shrugging. "Mom and I could always tell them apart. It wasn't that hard."

Christian shook his head. "And even more than twenty years later, you can still tell them apart? Leslie, sometimes you truly puzzle me." She grinned at him, and they quieted, listening to Kristy introducing herself and self-consciously talking about what she liked to do. _"Besides drawing stupid unicorns,"_ interjected Kelly, which set off Christian's laughter again.

"_You shut up, Kelly Hamilton. You already had your turn. I can't think of anything to say anymore. Leslie, you go now."_

"_Well…I like reading, and the TV show 'King's Castle', and—"_

"_You're supposed to say your name, you doofus!"_

"_Oh, for Pete's sake. Okay, all right, my name's Leslie Susan Hamilton, I'm thirteen, and I have two real goofballs for sisters. Honestly! Mom, I really can't think of anything good to say. I just sound dumb."_

"_No you don't, honey. Are you sure you don't want to say anything else?"_

"_Yeah…I mean, it's hard to talk into a tape recorder. Kristy and Kelly want to do all the talking, so maybe we should just let them hog the tape."_ This comment evoked a shout of laughter from Christian, and Roarke and Leslie grinned at each other, enjoying his reactions as much as the voices on the tape. Behind his mirth, the twins picked a fight with their older sister again, and for some time the tape played out in this manner; Shannon must have realized that her daughters sounded much more natural when allowed to argue. When the fight finally died out, they heard a phone ring on the tape, and Leslie's voice volunteered to answer it. It developed that the caller was Cindy Lou, who had invited Leslie over; Shannon told her she could go, and they heard a door close a moment later.

"_Now,"_ Shannon said, _"what about you two?"_

"_What about us? Do we have to let Kristy talk about her stupid unicorns again?"_

"_Kelly Hamilton, I'm gonna beat you up. You just wait, I'm gonna get you so bad…"_

"_I don't think that's what we want to hear,"_ Shannon said, laughing. _"Listen…"_ The next words came out with studied casualness that sobered all three listeners_. "I was thinking about giving this tape to Leslie to keep, and later we can make a tape for each one of you to keep the same way, so all three of you will have one for when you're grown up. So why don't you two record a message for Leslie? Something nice, now…don't make fun of your sister."_

"_I don't know why not. She makes fun of us a lot."_

"_No she doesn't. Just you, 'cause you do so many stupid things. She always protects me from Dad when he gets mad at us. That means Leslie's my favorite sister."_

"_She's still more scared of Dad than I am. But I guess she's not as scared as you. Anyway, she told me how every time I run out the door, she laughs at Dad. She's on my side too, y'know. She never says anything when Dad's mad. Mom, how come Dad always gets so mad at us? Maybe he hates us."_

"_That's just your dad, sweetheart…"_

"_He's a meanie, that's why. Do we have to talk about him? That'll just ruin the whole tape. Mom said to say something nice to Leslie."_

"_Okay…'something nice.' There, I said it."_

"_You're so crummy! And that's the worst joke I ever heard! Sorry, grown-up Leslie. She didn't really mean that. She just tells dumb jokes all the time."_

"_I like jokes, and Leslie likes 'em too. She laughs at all my jokes. She'd laugh at yours if you told any, but you _draw_ all your jokes. Stupid unicorns."_

"_That's it! You better look out!!…"_ This was followed by running footsteps and shrieking laughter, which rapidly faded into the background. Shannon chuckled, in tandem with Christian's helpless laughter in the here-and-now.

"_Those two,"_ she murmured. _"Leslie, I'm sorry this didn't turn out quite the way I hoped it would. Maybe when you listen to this later, you'll get a laugh out of it…I know you're going to remember Kelly forever twitting poor Kristy about her unicorns. The strange part of that is, maybe you yourself will have a chance to see some unicorns…"_ There was a pause and then a long sigh. _"This is very likely going to be the only tape we make, because you're the only one who's going to survive to adulthood. You see, honey, just before you were born, I took a trip to Fantasy Island. _Mormor_ suggested it, and I thought it was a good idea…that curse your father keeps denying, you know what I mean. Anyway…"_ They listened, Leslie in a still silence and Christian and Roarke both watching her in concern, while Shannon explained her trip to the island and the reasons for it, and then paused. When she spoke again, her voice had tears in it. _"I wish I could do something to change this future, but I can't. Anyway, since all your grandparents are gone now and neither Michael nor I nor any of them had siblings, there won't be anywhere for you to go. So I asked Mr. Roarke to raise you after we're gone. He seemed to me to be a very kind and capable man, and I know he'll take the best possible care of you. He'll see to it that you have the things you need, clothes and food and a roof over your head, and maybe some extras once in a while, and he'll make sure you go to good schools. And maybe he can even introduce you to some friends. The only reason I have any gratitude about this fire that's going to happen is that you'll at least be out from under Michael's perpetual anger and his verbal abuse of you girls. You might learn that not all men are like your father, Leslie. One day you'll find someone you love very much and want to marry, and since you'll have Mr. Roarke for a role model, you'll be able to trust in that man, whoever he might be."_ She stopped, and they heard voices in the background again. _"I think the twins are coming back down. I'd better stop here—I don't want to scare them. Just be happy, Leslie. I know it won't be easy, but someday you will be, I promise." _The twins' voices grew louder, and they heard Shannon call,_ "What are you two arguing about now?"_

"_She's trying to rip up my unicorns!"_ shouted Kristy's indignant voice, and Shannon unexpectedly burst out laughing before the tape went silent. Christian, grinning at the final exchange, turned to look at Leslie, whose expression was faraway.

"Are you all right, child?" Roarke asked gently.

She blinked and looked at him, nodding. "I'm fine," she said, regarding him. "Father, don't take this the wrong way…but, well, Mom seemed so confident in you, and I remember when I first came here, you scared me to death. You seemed as if you weren't too happy about being saddled with this stray orphan kid…"

Roarke smiled a little ruefully. "I always regretted leaving you with that impression, but to tell you the truth, we were strangers to each other, Leslie. I will readily admit to being somewhat uncertain about the sort of child I would be raising. I knew little about your family life, even from what we saw of those visions I showed your mother, and I found myself facing an unusual bout of trepidation. But during your first week here, I got your measure, as I believe the saying goes, and I knew we would get along fine. All that was needed was time, so that you could begin to heal, to make friends and to build a new life."

"You had a chance to leave an imprint on her too, Mr. Roarke," Christian put in. "Her mother was right about her having you for a role model."

Roarke smiled at him. "Perhaps so, Christian. Perhaps so. After all, she found you." Christian sheepishly rolled his eyes, and Leslie turned around in time to see him do it.

"Hey," she said, catching his attention. "Of all the people in the world, I'd think you could take a compliment a little more gracefully than that."

"Let's put it this way," Christian suggested with a half-smile in Roarke's direction. "I have about as much chance of taking compliments gracefully as I do of seeing your sister's unicorns. Does that tell you anything?" He caught the conspiratorial look Roarke and Leslie traded and groaned. "On second thought, never mind!"

‡ ‡ ‡

Christian was checking e-mail that evening at home; Leslie, having just loaded their dishwasher and gotten it running, came into their den—located upstairs off the bedroom, next to the bathroom—and stopped behind his chair, leaning down and wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. "Any news?" she asked.

He smiled, turned his head far enough to meet hers and kissed her. "The baby is fine, according to Gerhard, and Liselotta's English lessons are coming along quite nicely." They were in touch with Gerhard almost as often as with Anna-Kristina, and every message mentioned Christian's great-nephew, Matteus, now five months old. "Do you want to check your messages?"

"I will in a minute," Leslie said, "though I have a feeling if I hear from Michiko, she'll just focus entirely on Androno and Catalina, the way she always does." Christian laughed. Michiko had given birth to a daughter shortly before Christmas, and couldn't seem to talk about anything except her baby girl—unless it was her sister Reiko's son Androno, named after Errico's father. "Actually," Leslie continued, "I wanted to ask you something. I was in the middle of loading the dishwasher and it happened to occur to me. You never did tell me what you said to me on Wednesday, when I was right on the edge of insisting we get out of there because I didn't think I could face that vacant lot."

"Hm?" Christian murmured, frowning slightly as he searched his memory. "Oh—I see what you mean. Those words in _jordiska_ that calmed you down. Frankly, my Rose, I was clutching at straws. I really wasn't sure it would work."

"Why not?" Leslie asked. "I don't get it."

Christian arose and turned to face her, holding her. "I should tell you a little story first. Last summer, just after Gerhard told us that Arnulf had died, I remembered seeing that initially, he was as distraught and shocked as the rest of the family. And yet the following morning, when we retreated to the castle to join the others in seclusion, he was very calm, very collected. I was caught in my own grief and all the violent emotion that came with it, but it still made an impression on me. I caught him one evening after dinner and asked him how he had been able to make it through the memorial and funeral without breaking down as most of the rest of us did, and he told me it was thanks to Liselotta. It was some little nonsense phrase that Liselotta had grown up with: apparently the Liljefors family has used it for centuries to calm their children. As the years passed it evolved into something that translates into English as 'I'll stop your tears, my little bird'. The original must have been soundalikes for the _jordiska_ words. But that's what I said to you. Since it came from the Liljefors clan, with their powers, I didn't know whether those powers were required for the words to work. But they did, after all."

She regarded him, feeling that surge of love for him again, and it made her smile. "I think the only power you need is the power of love," she said. "I think that's what made it work for you. Thank you again, my love…you helped me so much."

"You're welcome, always, my darling, and I think you're right," Christian murmured, kissing her. "Since we're to forfeit our usual weekend because we were away, suppose you let me spend our evening showing how much I love you in another way." Their smiles dissolved into a long kiss.  
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**A/N:** _I should note that Susanville, California, is used purely fictitiously in this story, although it's a real place. Main and Weatherlow Streets and Richmond Road all actually exist, but Banner Street is my own creation. Next story, I'll be back to the regular fantasy format…and a final visit from someone who just refuses to go away!_


End file.
